


Soldier Marching

by UWotMaTe



Category: Gay baby gang, The Misfits (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Character Death, Major Character Injury, Other, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-10-26 07:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17741342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UWotMaTe/pseuds/UWotMaTe
Summary: Walluwalky University is without a doubt the college every magically gifted child aims to go. Toby never thought he'd get in. He also never thought that the people he'd meet there would bring about the end of the world.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to add more tags and characters but just so happened to be limited to mobile. Mobile is acting up on my and refuses to let me add tags that it doesn't suggest. So just a fair heads up/warning, there are pairings other than platonic, there are more people from the gbg, and there are many, many more tags to be added, I simply can't add them. I'll figure this out as soon as I can, I just wanted to promote this prologue first. 
> 
> Heads up! This chapter contains gore and death. Like a lot of it. Also self harm. But in a different way??? Nah, still self harm.

They called this day by many names. According to a small fortune teller, it was the day of forgetting. A metal made man I know called it the end of the unnamed God's light. Another man I know who could no sooner flee from me in a puddle of colors than his feathered companion could take flight once called it the rapture. His aforementioned feathered friend referred to it as the night the stars bled. My father calls it the worst day of his life. But I have a very near and dear and now dead friend who called it something entirely different. He called it his birthday. 

And what a truly awful night to be born upon.

Screams had filled the night air. In the distance, over the foothills of the towering mountains, there was the soft glow of an angry fire. Many had hoped that it would serve to be a warning and nothing more. They would learn only all too late that it wasn't a warning at all but a firm promise. Tears would wipe away soot from terrified faces just in time for a cellar door to be forced open and a flood of soldiers would over take their hideout. Children would be pried from their parents’ desperate grasps. Each party crying and pleading but this agony would fall upon deaf and uncaring ears. 

One by one people were taken out into the far from empty roads and would be added to the heaps of bodies that lined the once lively and friendly streets. The mirror rock roads would forever be stained a sickening red with the blood spilt these many passing nights. Never again would their reflection of a perfect starlit night sky shine as bright as they had once done before. 

As the story goes from those who witnessed it, the sight wasn't what hurt the most to recall. It was the smell. Chard flesh mixed poorly with smoke. Some still say that they can still feel it scratching away at their lungs. They can still taste it. 

Royaume was a glorious kingdom. It was known for the gorgeous architecture and the welcoming people. Many strange beings gathered in the heart of this lost kingdom and thrived. Beneath the loving rule of the good King, they flourished. They patched roads that worshiped the heavens in the most beautiful of ways, they constructed libraries that held books in more languages than there were known numbers. Their kingdom was a melting pot of culture and the envy of all. It had once been a place of peace.

How long ago that changed wasn't long at all. Though why or where exactly things turned as bad as they did still remains to be under heavy debate. Some of the more religious folk blamed the unnamed god. Others housed in the glamorous city of Edeen said that their Good King had fallen ill and his right hand man had taken over. Those opposite of Edeen living in Sordon said that the king had gone mad and perhaps this had been his plan all along. There's not a pair within ten feet of each other who could agree upon why. All they knew was that their land of beauty and grace had become an ever growing and overflowing graveyard and all they could do was hope and wait for it to all be over.

Many died on this last night of needless war. Our hundred graves could not contain the number of bodies we had to fill them with. Many were buried, nameless, faceless, forgotten. Scholars are still scouring the kingdom trying to find family friends who might remember an old friend or for who one day just vanished around this time, trying to give the dead back the dignity they'd lost. The blood spilt that night could fill the ocean seven times over. But to tell the story of each and every single one of these murdered individuals would require more pages than any forest could be cut down for and more ink than there are stars in the sky. And I simply do not have that kind of dedication nor the time. No. While I respect and now my head to the lives lost on this dreadful day, I'm afraid I can only focus on three lives lost on that night. 

The first of which was a young hunter, who had hidden himself behind a mess of brush and shadow. He thought that he'd been blessed the moonless sky above him. The fires up north cast a deviating shadow that concealed him perfectly. He just needed to remain quiet and maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to return to the sanctuary of his cabin where his wife lay in labor. Had lady luck been on this side, perhaps he'd havs gotten to witness the birth of his son. Though, given the state of the kingdom, it was safe to assume Lady luck had fallen along with the thousands of other celestial beings, and she would could not be there to look out for the thousands who needed her most. 

The hunter had evaded detection for the past week, a challenging and impressive triumph. Up to this point, he'd been exceedingly careful with how and where he hid. No place was ever quiet enough or dark enough. Everyone he met was a threat and he knew that he couldn't go back home during the day. He was safest at home, though, that much he knew. Only those born in the awful Western woods could navigate the clustered mess of trees. He simply had to get to them first. As soon as he could see the familiar white wood trees he'd be home free and safe at last. He'd done well to get there. And that night, at long last, they were within an hour's trek. He was so close.

Had he'd known just how close to the road his hiding place had been, he'd have simply ran. He'd have forgotten about trying to hide and he'd have just made a break for it. Alas, he'd chosen this particular bush to hide within because the light allotted no knowledge of anything. No trees were in sight, no buildings, and certainly not road. He had every reason to think himself safe.

He realized his mistake ten seconds too late. He trembled as he listened, helpless and trapped, to the approaching rattle of the metal boots the king's guards wore. The light of their torches drowned the environment with a field of visibility that he'd never escape from fast enough. Sure he was a fast runner but there was no man alive capable of out running an arrow. It was too late for him to try and relocate, the sound would give him away before the light. 

In his last moments of feigned safety, he thought of his beloved wife and how she'd never know what became of him. She'd know he'd been caught, but would she know of his fate? Would she forever cage herself with the hope that he'd return home or would she know that he had joined those before him in the fires that ate the streets? What stories would she tell their son about him? Would his boy think of him as a hero? A fool? Would he think of him at all?

While in thought he felt a rough hand catch him by his shoulder and he was swiftly forced to his aching feet. Most people in his position might reflect on how badly they didn't want to die. “Not here. Not now. Not like this.” That sort of thing. This man had no such thoughts. The only thing he could think of was how he'd never know his own son's name. With that, he was met with a white hot pain and he crumpled to the ground. The fabric of his shirt had quickly become soaked with his own blood. A gash stretching from hip to shoulder and as deep as gutter had torn it and him open. Another soul snuffed out. The soldiers said not a word, made no noise, and marched ever onwards to eliminate the rest. 

Unbeknownst to them, they had just killed the last of their intended group. There were none left. Orphanages had been burned just in case children had been put up for their own safety. Countless innocent lives had been ended in the pursuit of obsolete purity. On their Savage thorough ways, the king's men had successfully eliminated and entire people. For a moment, they had reason to celebrate. They'd achieved their victory. But only for a moment. 

Thirteen miles west, lost to a dense wood, stoode a cabin alive with a single candle. Its light burned strong and true, capable of being seen by the frosted over garden. A dappling tree appeared to arch itself towards it, almost as if it had mistaken this tiny glow as the first rays of dawn, needy for the warmth and light it produced. 

Inside, the cabin was cold. The winter winds had wormed their way through every time crack in the wood works, the windows, the roof. How the candle still blazed was a mystery and the poor, pained woman confined to the bed was thankful nonetheless.

She gripped the sheets tight and grit her teeth, biting back the scream that ached to rip free from her lungs. Her arched back lifted ever higher. Each jerky move was made in a pitiful attempt to escape from an inescapable pain. She wished, over and over, for the comfort of her loving husband and his hand in hers. How she longed to hear his voice whispering to her, telling her that she's doing a marvelous job and to keep going. Unfortunately the only company to keep with her was the small candle sat upon her night stand. 

She strained and thrashed about, pushing with all her might. She'd been told by every midwife that she ought not do this, her body would know what to do best and she believed them, but something was wrong, something was terribly wrong! Either she wasn't strong enough or her body had already given up but it refused to release the child. He wasn't stuck, no, just trapped. Desperate and afraid that if she didn't act fast then she'd kill the babe, the woman glanced around for a solution. Her eyes settled on her husband's shaving razor. Her heart sank at the idea that popped into her head but she couldn't convince any other liable choice. At least one of them deserved to live through this birth and she knew the second her body stopped responding to her demands that she wouldn't. 

Trembling fingers gripped the cool metal handle of the razor. She brought a shaky hand to her stomach and pressed it gently to herself and shivered at the chill. A whimper fell from her lips. She took a breath and held it. She brought the razor across her skin with force, biting back the urge to stop as the rush of warm liquid began to run free from the razor's path. She could feel it pooling beneath her, soaking the sheets. She cut again, deeper. She was untrained on how to do such a procedure, she was certain that at this point she was just gutting herself the same way an apprentice butcher messies their first sow. She was right in this regard. However sloppy her act was, the adrenaline pumping through her veins kept her going. 

Finally she tossed the blade aside and reached into the gash she had created. No words could possibly explain the pain this caused, nor should any attempt be made as it would be, in fact, vomit inducing. Flesh rubbed against her searching fingers and she gagged at the thoughts of what it was she was touching. At last her finger tips fell upon something solid. She felt around further and found a what she thought was a good place to take hold of the unborn babe. With a grunt that quickly turned into a scream she began to wriggle him free from the tangle of her own intestines and out into the cold cabin room. 

At last he was free! At long last she had succeeded in bringing a child into the world. Joy had replaced the fear and the anguish and she held the child close to her, resting his tiny, bald head gently upon her swollen breasts. Sobs wrecked her body. Then the panic set in. Had the room always been so cold? She couldn't remember. She stared down at the shadow resting unusually quiet upon herself. Her heart sank. Why isn't he crying? Shouldn't be be crying? 

He lay still, unmoving. Was he breathing? She couldn't tell. Just like that the joy fled from her and terror returned. Despite her body's protests she sat herself up and repositioned the newborn in her arms. She gave the child a swift slap on the ass. The child hiccuped out a cough before erupting into a fit of cries. He's alive, thought the new mother through tears, thank the unnamed God he's alive! 

With this good news, she settled back into her pillows and hummed softly. The blankets weren't doing her any good. She wondered for a brief second if she had the strength to go and start a fire. This thought was slashed from her head the second she found herself unable to move her legs. 

Reality settled in. She could see the mess she'd made, it glistened against the yellow flowers of the candle. The very sight of it made her sick. Her breathing had grown short and weak. She was dying and she knew it. An arm pulled the child up towards her face and she blessed his forehead with a kiss. Her other hand fluttered from her side to her stomach. She dipped her fingers into the warm wetness of herself. It was a fight to keep her arm steady but she prevailed. She couldn't give the child much, no first meal, no crib, no mother, but she could give him the most powerful thing a person could have. She have him a name. Four letters were painted in a whisper red on a pillow besides her head. She whispered the name out loud, just to hear herself say it the once, and with the last syllable free from her mouth, she, like her husband, was gone. 

It wouldn't be until long after the sun and risen that the food Farmer Grey would emerge from his house and discover the body of the young man he recognized as his neighbor. He'd go and give the grave news to the poor man's wife and office help with the delivery of the child. His own wife would awaken with her own child and set to making breakfast. 

Hours would pass before she'd begin to worry. Her child began to ask questions she didn't have answers to. Just as she began to think the worst, the front door gave way and in stepped her farmer carrying a bundle wrapped in the ugliest black blanket she'd ever laid eyes upon. 

An argument broke out. They could afford to feed another mouth, the could barely afford to feed one! No. She demanded he take the child to a church. He refused. He tried to reason with her but this only seemed to make her angrier. She presented her daff husband with two options. They could give the child to the church or she'd give the child to the lake. Before Farmer Grey could argue against these options, they'd found that their four year old son had taken the child and was seated besides the fire playing peek a boo. 

Maybe it was her mother's instinct, maybe it was her moral compass, whatever the reason, this sight broke the woman's iron dislike of another mouth to feed. Defeated, she agreed to take the child in. They'd raise him as their own. Under no circumstances would they tell anyone that he was adopted. Long love of the unnamed God, but he'd be killed if any one ever found out who his parents were. For all the town would know, the lady had fallen with child and just hadn't told anyone because she doubted she'd come to terms. He'd be a miracle child, as so many were. And that would be their lie, their secret. 

Would the come to regret this act of kindness? Had the food woman's dislike stemmed not from financial distress, but from an undismissable sense of dread? The family would not learn until it was too late just what the child would turn out to be. In that moment, the child was alone with nothing more than an ugly cloak and a name etched in blood. He was no more dangerous than a ripple in the water. 

Though as I'm sure most of you already know, sometimes it's what causes this ripple in the water that we must be afraid of. And this family had a very good reason to be afraid. They simply didn't know it yet.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this one, it is safe

From where he sat, Toby could see with perfect clarity the rich hills that surrounded the beautiful kingdom that was Royaume. Mirror rock road glittered this way and that mimicking veins in a body. Some swirled in on themselves creating a cataclysme of light in the town square of Edeen, the city that he'd called home for so very long. In many ways, the road accented the grandeur. However, when the sun was high and the clouds were none, the mirror rock roads were an eyesore and a headache. One of which Toby had no cures or remedies for. Well, at least not with him. He suddenly regret telling his father to have his luggage ride in with his chaperone. Ryan would have surely been prepared with some sort of elixir perfect for reducing the sun glare. 

But alas, he had wanted to see the campus a day early and get settled in his new room first before bothering with having too much to lug around and deal with. So he was without his beloved chaperone and worse he was without his chosen comforts from home. 

Aside from the bright view, Toby was ecstatic! He still couldn't believe that he was on his way to Walluwalky University. He never thought he'd get accepted in. Surely there were plenty of far more talented magic users. Hell, he'd sent in an application letter for shits and giggles. It was a gag. Something to tell his friends about so that they'd think more highly of him. Oh the grin that crept upon his face when he told them all that he actually got in. Their jaws had dropped so far he feared they'd dislocate. His brother now refused to talk to him, having had applied for Walluwalky only to get rejected, he was jealous that his little brother had managed to succeed where he'd failed. 

Toby had vowed to be careful about rubbing this in his face at all. He still intended to go home for the holidays and he didn't want to be around an angry little shit head while trying to enjoy the company of his parents and little sister. Indeed, he’d try his best to keep the peace. But let it be known, while he wouldn't dare start a fight, he'd gladly finish one. That was fair, wasn't it? Practically self defence. 

He pitied his brother. The man would be sitting in some dull, near nameless college in their home city forever forced to look up and gaze upon the building everyone hoped to get into but very rarely ever did. 

It was said that Walluwalky was where the new King Kryoz had attended. Not to mention they had the world's most powerful wizard as a professor. To think! He could have the chance to be taught by the one and only Kugo the Mighty. If he wasn't anything special now, he'd certainly be the envy of all back home once he graduated. Mark his words, he was going to graduate! No matter how difficult the classes got or how daunting or demanding. Make no mistake, he was going to leave Walluwalky as one of the greats. 

So he watched that annoyingly bright mirror rock road wind and wither away. Towering hills devoured the landscape. Sharp rocks cut into the horizon line, stabbing the pale blue skies with their mossy claws. Soon the rough terrain gave way to a smoother plot of endless fields of a gently wafting gold. The steep hill came to an end and Toby beheld from his first class seat the place he'd be staying for the next four years of his life.

Columns of quartz stretched on into the heavens, hoisting up pillars and pillars of a clashing obsidian. Gargoyles guarded the place and Toby wasn't certain all were made from stone. Hell, maybe none of them were. He didn't want to find out regardless. 

Bridges connected towers to each other. Every story was neatly gifted with a stunningly supply of windows that came in every color imaginable. At the highest point of the college, and perhaps the most gorgeously decorated, was a Bell tower. It's bell was shielded by the sheer height of this building. While there didn't appear to be a cloud in the sky, there was next to no other logical explanation for why the bell was shrouded from view the way that it was. 

Of all the places to call home, this one wasn't bad. Not bad bad at all. 

The train simply didn't come to a stop fast enough. Toby was practically vibrating with the need to get up and stretch his legs. Every cell in his body wanted nothing more than to explore every floor of this campus.

Already the place was crawling with life. Though the distance obscured some features, Toby was certain he'd spotted several creatures not found in Edeen for years! Beneath an old oak tree, protected from the sun by the long and thick branches sat a group of cherry Sordonian elves. Their goatish ears were all dropped down to show the comfort every individual appeared to be lavishing in. Above them, most definitely stuck, was a boy who Toby couldn't help but think looked almost superficial, as if the face he was wearing wasn't exactly his own but one he'd chosen. Of course that couldn't be possible. The only creatures capable of such cosmetic changes were the Strippers and Strippers had no rights. They wouldn't be caught dead so close to such an extravagant place. Surely someone would have caught him, checked him for his numbers, and sent him back to whatever stripper house he'd escaped from. Or, heaven forbid, if he'd been found numberless, killed him. But seeing as the boy was alive and unbothered by anyone, Toby was forced to believe that he was, in fact, every bit as human as he appeared to be, however impossible enhanced that was. 

Regardless of species, everyone was found in lively spirits with the start of this new school year. Freshmen could be found introducing theses to each other by showing them just what exactly got them into this place to begin with. Toby was almost certain that he'd be caught in the toxic environment of an ever lasting pissing contest. He didn't want to show anyone what he could do because there'd always be some bastard who could do something better and wouldn't be against proving this. He was sure this whole school would be one big competition and he was delighted to find that there was no such dick measuring contests anywhere to be found. Just a bunch of kids excited to see others abilities. 

This took some weight off of Toby's shoulders. He was certain that should he be forced into such dastardly debate that he'd surely lose within two seconds flat. However cheery the people appeared to be, Toby still wasn't about to go around and put himself on display. 

He liked being invisible. To the silent observer was often the safest and most entertaining role to play in a society. He could get every detail and remain out of the commotion. He started with this routine early. He's have to if he wanted to maintain it.

He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the other passengers as they all fled from the tight confines of the train. 

Call it luck, or the clumsy happenstance of fate, but with his eyes downward cast upon the red velveted flooring of the first class train, Toby never spotted the discerningly tall and ultimately charming young lad struggling to pull his travel back from the luggage space. The lad gave the handle of his bag a hearty tug. Leather lumps dislodged from a metal bar holding it back and back fell the bag and the young man attached to it just in time for the timid Edeen boy to step into his landing zone.

Both boys stumbled over each other before pouring onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and startled cries. Other students kept of the way, hoping to avoid being caught in the collision. Upon seeing the two now on the floor, they went on about their day, stepping over and around the downed pair. 

Through a collection of muttered apologies, Toby freed his legs from under the blond man's luggage. He clambered to his feet before sheepishly offering a helping hand up. Of which the tall gent happily accepted while also sputtering out his own sorries. 

Following such embarrassing moments, Toby had been known to pretend that they never happened and who ever had been a part of this mess with him now no longer existed to him. Out of shame and hoping to save what dignity he had, he'd give his condolences and never speak to them again and just sorta hope that they forgot it was he who ran into them. 

The tall lad besides him, cursed social butterfly that he was, would not stand for such a departure. Unable to pick up on Toby's discomfort, he gave the man a toothy grin and quickly delved into a light hearted conversation that out of pure politeness, Toby engaged in. 

“My father warned me to travel light but boy did I not listen!” He gleefully declared. Toby nodded, wordless and eager to leave this conversation. Still the man went on. “I just couldn't be bothered to part with a near cubic ton of pure garbage for one more day.” 

To continue smiling and nodding or not to continue smiling and nodding. That was the question Toby was rolling over in his head for a second too long as this only prompted the young lad to drop this topic because they clearly were getting along well and start up a new one. In this man's mind, the two we're officially friends, a realization that dawned upon Toby who grew ever more mortified with every passing second. 

“You're a freshman, I gather then?”

“Uh. Yes?”

“Oh good! You'll be every bit as lost as I!” 

To say, “That's nice, good day now” was all Toby wanted to do. And yet for some reason the words would not free themselves from his mind. He offered up no protest when the stranger swung his arm over his shoulders and proudly lead the both of them out into the fresh mountain air. Not a protesting word or bit of physical hesitance came to his aid and he was pulled helplessly along with this man he didn't so much as even know the name of. 

Toby didn't exactly have many friends back at home. No, the children of Edeen were a rowdy bunch better suited for his pompous brother's company. Loud mouthed and hoity toity, Toby had decided that those groups just weren't worth his time. It was far too exhausting to try and keep up with their high expectations. He did have a few and how they'd met Toby can no longer recall. Perhaps it was because the few friends Toby did have all happened to be childhood friends, ones he likely acquired before he could form a full sentences yet. That said, he wasn't at all certain that this was how one made friends. 

While trying to recall “how to make friends 101” from his childhood, he'd come to the realization that this man hadn't once shut up. They'd been walking for some time now and still the man continued to ramble on and on. What about Tony couldn't quite catch. He panicked, not wanting to be asked a question and find himself unable to answer.

“I think we oughta find the headmaster,” Toby interjected in the stranger's mindless babblings. The man bit his lip, stopping the flow of words to listen to his new companion. Several seconds of silence hung above them.

“What for?”

“Roomies. They're assigned here, aren't they?”

At least, that's what he's been told. The spokesperson had mentioned that of course for a price he could have a room all to himself. Some wealthy families were paying to keep some children together, namely a pair of twins who were a little too codependent on each other and childhood besties. Much to his brother's disliking, Toby had settled on not knowing who he'd be saddled with. It wasn't like he had anyone to try and bunk with and he did intend to meet some people and figured having a roommate was like being assigned a friend. Hopefully at least.

Besides, having a roommate was like have the world's greatest excuse. Leave out a name, no room to guess who this person was, and all of a sudden he had an out of every occasion. 

Dinner party at seven? Oh no, simply cannot be done. My roommate and I have plans to study for a test tomorrow. Drinks with the gents? Alas, my roommate is home sick and he's being a real baby about it. Spend a week of break out on the lake? I'd love to but the mess my roommate made is gonna take me at least three days to clean. Whatever a dog can do, a person can do too, shit on the floor, require surgery, get lost, and people had many more accidents than dogs. Toby was excited to have a permanent excuse for his antisocial tendencies. 

“Hm. Didn't know that. Do you think it's too late to try and buy a private room?”

“Deadlines for such were last month, I'm afraid.”

The stranger grumbled something under his breath before giving up a shrug. “Ah well, water off a rug's back.”

“I don't think that's the saying-”

“Well it's me saying it, so guess what? Now it is. Legally. I'll write to my mother at once and in a week's time at most she'll work her magic and it'll be done.”

“Is that so?” He had to admit, this dope of a man was charming. He enjoyed the proud sort of humor he had to him. 

“She's a very convincing woman, I'm certain whoever's in charge of these sort of things will be compelled to listen to anything she has to say. That and as she tells my father every day, she's always right, so the second she confirms my new take on the saying then I, too, will be right. That's just basic logic.” 

It was how he carried himself, Toby settled upon. It was how easily he took life and how he managed to not only roll with the punches, but dance with them. 

Just as this thought graced his mind, the stranger misplaced a foot, stumbled forward a tad, catching himself in time to keep from again sending both boys to the ground. And in his jostled side steps he'd managed to knock the latch of his luggage loose and could do nothing but watch in complete and utter dismay as half of his belongings scattered to the winds and began to take off in every which way. 

“Fuck! Are you seeing this shit? Fuck. Ah...fuck.” He sighed the last part, the stages of grief having fully washed over him in a simple three sentences. With a sigh, he released Toby and began collecting his things. 

Toby very easily could have laughed at this and continued on his way free from the weird man, but he found himself compelled to assist in collecting the luggage. 

Clothes mostly littered the ground, all now in a dire need of a good washing. Eyes darted frantically away from a pair of underwear and he made a near visible effort to pretend that he never saw them and proceeded to take up a mess of socks instead. Was he saving the stranger some embarrassment or himself? He'd figure that one out later. 

The stranger began stuffing his crap back into his bag. Apologies and thanks muddled together in odd mixed up phrases that Toby subconsciously committed to his memory. Later, years later, he'd play them back while trying to sleep and smile for the first time in a long time. For now, he just laughed and countered the stranger's every awkward “Thanks” and “Oof, that's prolly not great” with his own short and witty comments. 

“This is the last time I ignore my father, I swear.”

This would, undoubtedly, be a lie. The very next week his father would right and inform his son that while it sounds appetizing, to avoid the flung and flayed fish at the bar called “Strangles” down the street, and that would be the first thing his son would order. He’d of course get horrifically ill. Still it was a nice thing to say, a good hearted promise. 

“They tend to know best, huh?”

“In the love of the unnamed God, no! Half the shit my dad says is bull shit. He knows it. I know it. And he knows I know.”

Toby wanted to argue this point. Knowledge didn't mean much when it came to a good father's love and devotion to a child. His own father had saved his ass a number of times that required nothing more than pure and raw reflexive action. Every bit of advice his dad gave, Toby practically worshiped. Most of the time that advice stemmed from a place of experience. He could never understand his brother's disrespect. Father's sometimes do know best, but sometimes you don't always have to listen.

The stranger, having stuffed the last of his belongings back in his bag, stood upright and ran a hand through his hair, feigning exhaustion a little too well. He opened his mouth to say something more but found himself interrupted before he got the chance.

“Well fuck my dad and call him Carry. Don't tell me that's Cameron!”

A grin overtook the tall man's features. He turned towards the now approaching other. 

“Haven't you heard? I've declared my new name.”

“Already? You know what, four simple incantations?” 

Cameron gave up a mocking laugh. He fixed his hands into his pockets, struggling slightly with the one attached at the wrist to his luggage. 

“Doesn't matter how much I know, point is, I don't go around using that name anymore.”

“Well shit,” spoke the startlingly short man now joining the company, “what stupid ass name did you decide upon then?” 

“Fitz.” 

“Fitz!?”

“It's better than Swagger.” 

Before the two could start their bickering, Fitz turned towards Toby and offered an apologetic smile, “Hey, it's been great...um...you. Hope I'll see ya around more.” 

Toby nodded, sad to have to depart such lovely company, and yet also revealed in a way. At last he'd been offered an out. So before the much louder and much shorter man could force him back in, Toby made his way towards the college. 

Behind him, about fifteen miles off still and rapidly depleting, was another train coming up the mountain from the much poorer part of the kingdom. It wasn't often that this train carried many passengers, it was costly and surely there was a horse around somewhere. Greenesline was, for lack of a better word, hurting. A terrible sick had began to eat away at the outer edges and many things found themselves trapped in their deathbeds. Unfortunately, this train usually carried scholars and doctors sent to try and figure out what this horrid amalgamation was before it had the chance to spread into the more lucratively cities.

This train, however, had no such deliveries to make. Instead it could be found whisking away two individuals from that rotting hellscape of poverty and ruin. There was no diner car, no luggage car, only the motor unit and passengers freight. 

A boy sat, his legs pulled up tight against his chest, alone in his booth. He watched his home wizz past him in a dizzying blur of color. 

Weather this was a good or bad thing, he didn't quite yet know. Though every part of his mind was leaning further and further on bad. It was very bad. This was selfish and inexcusable. There was work to be done back on the farm, now more than ever. Especially with the recent loss of their two farm hands. He was needed, home, not here. He was never meant to be here. His type didn't get to go here. He couldn't afford it, didn't deserve it, and he doubted he'd be able to get through all of it. Still, every teacher who'd met him had strong words to offer up to the Grand headmaster of Walluwalky University. They talked big game, as there was plenty to talk about. They called it a scholarship. He called it “damn near kidnapping”. Had it not been for his brother, he never would have boarded this train. He'd still be back on his small family farm, tending to his bed ridden mother and staying far, far away from the lake. 

Dark thoughts had swarmed inside his head for the past hour and a half of travel. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the ever growing feeling of dread. With each mile, he could almost quite literally feel it growing stronger within him. And at the very same time, he felt that same part of him feeling strained. Tired almost.

A small Halo of light swirled about an inch above his finger tip. Mindlessly he twirled it from one to the next then back again. This had become a habit of his, replacing chewing on his nails. His mother forbade his use of magic after the incident, but in light of recent events, he thought that perhaps just this once would be ok. After all, who could possibly get hurt?

Almost as if the unnamed God heard this thought and had in that moment decided to curse the boy, his cabin door slid open and in stepped a young woman, barely breaking five feet tall. She stared at him for half a second before taking the seat across from him.

“Are you why the lights in my booth have gone out?”

“Possibly.” He didn't know. There was a chance he'd done that. He had been rather upset upon boarding the train and things had a habit of happening when he got upset. Strange things. Though, he doubted that had he eliminated the lights in one train booth, it wouldn't have been just the one booth. Last time he did such a thing, the entire city had been without power for a week. Though his brother would try and convince him that it had been purely coincidental. After all, no one's had that kind of power since the fallen stars died. Facts remained, there was a possibility and he wouldn't deny it.

“Possibly,” the lady echoed. She stared at him, taking time to memorize his face. It wasn't often magic users got the chance to meet back in Greenesline. It was sort of taboo. Many magic users were ashamed and in hiding. It was both pleasant and disturbing to meet someone who could relate to such an upbringing. At last a grin broke her stern composure. 

A delicate hand moved through the space between them and hung there. “Alright then. Bordie.”

The boy looked at the hand, not at all one for formal introductions. Usually when someone wanted to know who he was they'd ask his brother, who'd be struggling to clean up his mess. He nearly responded with “Boy!” but was able to stop himself. He shook the offered hand, “Ezra.” 

“Oh, so you haven't chosen your new name yet. That's quite alright, you have time still.” She didn't release his hand. Instead she took hold of his wrist and flipped it over to examine his palm despite his futile protests. “Though if I were you I'd hurry up about it. Especially with that Carson boy being around.”

“What?” 

She tore her eyes away from his hand and stared up at him, appalled that he'd asked such a question and broken her out of her thoughts. Then she laughed lightly and relinquished his hand.

“Sorry, I've forgotten myself again.” She didn't dare go one to explain herself further. 

Now, Ezra had plenty of friends back home. Or rather, he had before the sick of the Nextic got to them. He remembered meeting them all as clear as day. Not once has he ever met a friend in such a manner. By that merit alone, he doubted how close he'd grow to be with this clearly insane woman. 

“Is that all you do then? Dancing lights?”

Ezra glanced down at his hand, having forgotten about the halo it cast. To say yes would be a lie, perhaps the biggest lie he'd ever told, but he couldn't go on about just what exactly it was he could do. The incident had taught him that much. He extinguished the light and sank further back into his chair.

“Mostly.” 

And again a tender hand jot out and caught his wrist. She stared, unblinking for several moments before letting him go yet again with a deep frown scrawled across her face. He couldn't tell if it was fear or admiration that mingled with it.

“You’re a terrible liar.” The woman rose to her feet, a strange aura of urgency now pushing her towards the door. She stopped before exiting and turned once more to the boy.

“You'll learn soon enough,” she began slowly, “how heavy a burden your talents are, and what will be expected of you will be too much. Heed my words, Racc, the paths you walk will stain history forever with a bloodied red. Who's will you let it be?”

“What?” He asked for a third time and for a third time he got no answer. She fled from his booth just as swiftly as she came, leaving him to his now rustled thoughts. The lights above him flickered twice before near blinding him. They burst with a sizzling pop and showered him in sparks.

Now only seven miles off, while standing on the marbled steps leading up to the large doors, Toby could have sworn he saw the same burst of light he'd seen many years ago, when the streets burned. What had his father called it? The death of a star? Yes, he'd seen it depicted in every history book. But that couldn't have been what he'd seen. After all, everyone knew celestials had been thoroughly slain. One couldn't possibly be on some rickety old train. He shook his head and tossed the thought from his mind. It had to have been a bit of mirror rock road catching the light oddly. Yes, that made sense.


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, Robyn, this sure is a lot of chapters to be posting real fast. You sure you don't wanna maybe slow down?
> 
> No. I cant. God save me, there's no upload schedual. It is what it is.
> 
> Anyways enjoy this sorta filler chapter in which we meet Jay, Zuckles, and the headmaster.
> 
> Hey and thanks

There are half a million different ways to describe a person. This much Toby knew simply be reading the Daily Edeen News. This particular press station liked to focus on the recent crime, though very rarely was the crime ever in Edeen itself. This post would depict a ramaging murderer in the far southern fields of Sordon and almost every adjective imaginable would be used to perfectly describe the individual the police forces wanted to find. 

He could recite, word for word, the description of a man who had been caught sheering their neighbors’ sheep and taking off with the wool. He could probably use bits and pieces of the old articles he read to perfectly depict the Fitz, whom he'd had a grand total of five minutes to get a good look at. 

So believe me when I say that there was no good string of words, no collection of adjectives, that Toby could have possibly used to describe the headmaster. 

They were almost formless, like someone had tried to make a human out of a pile of clay and most parts of them were still too wet and heavy. Like he was talking aort, melting even. Then, this cruel creator, in an effort to try and hide this mistake masquerading as a person, stuffed them in clothes that were ill fitting and far too bright. 

Already there was just too much to look at, too much to try and figure out, and they decided to draw more attention to their deformed being by dressing up in a glittery, neon yellow suit with mismatched pink stiletto heels. To top the outfit off was a dull, green witch's hat. 

Then again, perhaps the gaudy and awful outfit was to distract who ever had the displeasure of looking at them from, well, them. Like how the angler fish uses its light to distract its prey from the danger of it's teeth. Actually, Toby thought, that was exactly the vibe he got from the headmaster. Primal fear told Toby to keep his distance, don't stare, and remain alert. He was in danger. 

A grotesque smile smeared itself across their face as they welcomed, or tried to welcome, the mob of students gathered before them. Toby got the inkling that this moment was one of pure ecstasy for them. He gathered that they'd be the kind of person to have a god complex and this, the power and attention they got for being the headmaster of the kingdom's most beloved University, was as close to being a worshiped God they'd ever get to be. 

The smile was unalluring, disheartening even. Students did their best not to get too close. Toby was more than satisfied being a wallflower in this event. For the first time, he found he didn't mind the crowd so much. No, now there was a safety in the large numbers. Should the headmaster snap and begin the killing spree they were inevitably born to do, Toby's chances of survival rose significantly. He readily put himself behind a barricade of other bodies, just to be safe, and whispered a soft prayer for those unfortunate souls up front.

There are half a million ways to describe a person. There wasn't one nice way to describe this one.

Not one.

“Welcome, freshmen, and welcome back upper class men! How wonderful it is to see you all!” 

The voice didn't match the face. No, it did. That was the wrong way of putting that. The voice was every bit as eery and wrong as the visage it was attached to. The problem was that they didn't match up. They were off by about half a second. The mouth, if that's what it was, would move but the sound was delayed. If it wasn't so utterly terrifying, it would have been hypnotizing.

Foolishly, Toby wondered what kind of creature the head master could possibly be. They were no elf, no human, and a Stripper wouldn't dare take on such a displeasing form, not even for their own protection. Perhaps they were a dwarf. Word around his hometown was that dwarves were renowned for being heinously hideous. He'd never seen a dwarf to confirm this, though. Or so he thought to himself. He was wrong, of course as he'd met one about ten minutes ago and would soon be meeting another. 

“I look forward to seeing what brilliant things the lot of you will accomplish in your stay here.” 

They turned their back towards the crowd and plucked from a silver tray carried by a trembling underling a parchment, thick and long, not quite unlike the four grubby fingers holding it. A free hand moved to push a pair of cat eye glasses up the knobby flesh of their nose. They cleared their throat, releasing a sickening sound of gargled flem and mucus that echoed off the towering ceilings above.

“First order of business, I shall be assigning you all your rooms. Once you get settled you all will head down to the mess hall and then go to bed. In the morning, my charming staff will come and make sure everyone found their way back to their rooms and a roll will be taken. The campus is large and we've had students get terribly lost before, this is for your safety, I assure you. Schedules will be found posted here,” and they motioned with a flabby arm to the large and empty wall behind them, “and morning classes will start at 9:30 sharp. Is this understood as I will not be repeating myself.”

The crowd murdered their responses. Some students turned to others asking for what the headmaster had said as they had either been late or weren't paying attention. Once the comotion settled, the headmaster went on.

They glanced down at the parchment in their hands, “Upper class men first, then. That should give the freshmen some time to clamber on inside.”

They started out by assigning rooms to the wealthier of students who'd been lucky enough to buy themselves their own private rooms. A total of nineteen students took off only all too quickly to find their way up the towers and into their beds, safe from the headmaster's cockeyed stare. From there, they ushered off the pairs. An hour passed before every senior was given their rooms and the headmaster could move on to the Juniors. 

By the time the freshmen were gotten to, the sun had set and the last of it's light could be seen fleeing from the glistening mirror rock roads miles below in the valleys that housed so many cities and towns. The windows had showered the remaining students in a dazzling array of color that rejuvenated them all for a moment, like the unnamed God had come to reassure them their safety for a few minutes more, kissed them all good night, before promptly heading off to bed. 

Toby was sick if standing and more than sick of hearing the headmaster's moist and sluggish voice. He was tired of averting his eyes when ever they dared glance his way. 

Most of the room had been cleared. Only a couple dozen students remained. About fifteen minutes ago he'd watched Fitz take off with Swagger, both relating how relieved they were to behave been stuck with someone they knew and liked. Toby now stood alone, recognizing no face, and fearing which poor soul he'd wind up with.

Some of the remaining kids moved in closer to the wallflowers, missing the comfort of the crowd that had at one point protected them. They all felt unusually naked and open and terribly alone.

The probably cosmetically enhanced boy who'd been stuck in a tree only moments before Toby had entered the university had taken upon himself to neighbor Toby. With him was a boy with eyes like gold and hair as dark as the crow. Both men were stunning and Toby had to gently remind himself not to stare. Though to be perfectly fair and honest, they were far more appealing than the headmaster in every possible way and he'd look over at them just to get a break from trying to figure out what part of the headmaster's body could possibly be causing that lump…

“Not gonna lie, I was really hoping that I'd get roomed with that Matt guy. He was the last recognizable face in the room and now I'm scared,” spoke the bald and beautiful boy. 

It took Toby a second to realize that he was being addressed. He was half relieved to hear something other than the headmaster and also annoyed because the headmaster had stated, numerous times, that rooms wouldn't be repeated, and he didn't know anyone here, so the chances if his roommate finding him and helping him would be slim to none. 

The jet haired boy besides the bald one gave his companion an elbow to the ribs, prompting a hiss of pain. “Well it's true! I've met you what? Four hours ago? I don't know you from Jack.”

“For the last time, its Jay! Not jack, Jay.” 

A girl in front of them spun around and shushed them sharply. The boys waved their hands apologetically then immediately ignored her commands. 

“You think you're so fuckkng cute.”

“I know I'm cute, bitch, so you'd better listen.”

Agin the girl shushed them. Her head then snapped back to watch the headmaster who very loudly declared, “Caroline and Stacy, room G148.”

“Sir,” she quickly interjected, earning a harsh glare from the headmaster who did not take well to the title assigned. The girl squirmed under their gaze for a moment before hesitantly carrying on, “I think there's been a mistake.”

“There's been no mistakes!”

“But Stacy's a boy and girls aren’t to be roomed with boys-”

“I can be what I want,” interrupted who Toby could only assume was Stacy. The young lad was just as tired of standing and at this point didn't give a damn who he was forced to share a space with as long as he could just sit down. This didn't sit well with Caroline who very quickly began to argue that, no, Stacy couldn't be be roomed with her because he was a boy. 

Sick of the bickering, the headmaster gave a gruff almost shout, shutting the girl up instantly.

“Says here Stacy's a girl. Girls bunk with girls. As I've said, no mistakes were made.”

A mistake was made in that Stacy was not at all a girl, he'd renounced that about a year ago and Caroline wasn't being an ignorant bitch so much as she was being irritating. He appreciated the incentive as very rarely did others try and defend him. Still, nether party seemed too keen on being forced to share a room with each other. 

“Oof. Hope I don't get a roomie like that. That'd be a bitch of a year,” the bald one mumbled. It wasn't clear which party he meant but it was clear that he'd appreciate being able to at least get along with his forced company. The two within his vicinity nodded in agreement. 

“Tell you what though, I'll gladly take some argumentative little shit for a roomie over the cursed kid any day.”

“Oh shit you're right! He hasn't been bunked yet, has he?”

Tired of being out of the loop and tired out of his mind, Toby bit at this possible conversation, “Who?” He gave the room a quick look over, taking a fast mental note of everyone left trying to spot who in the world they could possibly be referencing. Unable to pinpoint them he returned his eyes towards the two with a questioning look.

A near grimace took hold of the face of the one who called himself Jay.

“You haven't heard? He's been in the news about fifty times.”

“Yeah. Headlines all reading like some sort of awful novel series.”

“Greenesline child drains kake. Greenseline child starts Nextic outbreak. Greenesline child demolishes beloved church.”

“All of this took place in the span of three days, mind you.”

Toby stared, wide eyed and horrified. What kind of kid could…? 

“Mason and Jay, room H14.”

The boys stopped their talk and exchanged a couple revealed looks. Toby gathered from this reaction that the bald one was Mason. Before the two could slip off, Toby heard his name.

“Toby and Ezra, H15.”

The faces on the pair besides him dropped just before they could lift again. Mason punched his shoulder lightly, struggling to bite back a giggle.

“What?”

“That's the fuckin cursed kid we were just talkin about, that's what!”

Toby's face drained. In an instant the boys knew what this meant and a new sort of emotion came to light. One of almost pity and a mix of pure joy. The two quickly began to walk away, almost as if being near Toby was now also part of the alleged curse his roommate had. 

“You're fucked, mate.” 

“Straight fucked.”

“See ya around, though.”

“If you survive, that is.” 

Toby watched with a growing dread as the two took off. He turned his head back around just in time to see a fluffy haired young man draped in the world's ugliest cloak begin to make their way to the stairs. Other students made a noticeable effort to remain at a certain distance away from him, more so than they did the headmaster who, as far as Toby could tell, remained to be the biggest threat in the room.

One thought popped into his head at that moment. Two words.

Oh shit.

There are half a million different ways to describe a person. Ezra had but one. Cursed.


	4. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight mention of blood more towards the end

Just before his 12th birthday, he'd started getting these...visions, I suppose you could call them that, yes. Visions. But they weren't set in the future as most visions usually were and they were never from his own point of view. Occasionally, he'd see himself, usually passively taking part in a conversation or simply sitting quietly in the background. Sometimes be wouldn't be there at all. He'd come to realize that these dreams, these visions, were real. That was what he could do. He could see through someone else's eyes for just a moment. He could know every thought that ran through their head, every detail their eyes picked up, every tiny thing they registered, he registered but only for this one moment in their life no matter how insignificant it might have been. 

As the years had come to pass, he'd found that these visions adhered to very specific rules. Eight years had passed and not once had they strayed. 

Firstly, they always took place in the past. He never got a glimpse into the future. Secondly, he was never the center if these visions, but he was somehow included, sometimes only by name or brief mention, but somehow he was involved. Thirdly, he always knew who ever it was he was watching, not always well, but he had at some point met them. Other additional rules were along the lines of the fact that he had no control. He was, in every sense of the word, a paralyzed witness experiencing everything from their perspective. No thought was ever his. Every action was made against his will. 

As you can probably gather, these visions had caused many a problem. He learned very quickly how many friends he could trust, how many lies an average person told, what horrific thoughts plagued seemingly normal people. He knew too much and he was almost always unable to act on this. His neighbor had constant thoughts about how hot his own cousin was? Neat. What was he supposed to do about that? He couldn't just go up and say, “Hey neighbor, that's gross,” because a) they've never actually had a real conversation before, b) this crush had never been spoken about out loud ever, c) that would bring up the impossible to answer question of “how do you know?” 

He hated it! It was a curse more than a gift. It was like watching a play he didn't want to see but with far less action and it was far more infuriating to be so helplessly involved in. 

It became second hand nature to keep from trusting anyone. Everyone was a threat and a bitch who couldn't give two shits about him no matter how hard they pretended. He'd learned to find comfort in his own company. In all honesty, the only people he could tolerate were his siblings, parents, and Ryan. 

This power was something he'd never told anyone about. As far everyone else knew, he could take someone's hands, close his eyes, reverse the hands of time and gain all of their memories. He was the exact opposite of a fortune teller and he wasn't about to lie to himself, it was a lame power to have. How was he any better than a history book?

There wasn't much to improve upon as far as this ability went. He doubted this college degree would do him any good. He'd return home, a graduate but still just as useless as when he'd left home. He wasn't looking forward to these next four years in the slightest. 

That first night had been hell, the first (of soon to be too many) red flag(s) that he turned a blind eye to. He'd come to regret leaving his luggage behind more than he'd first thought he would. He missed his hygienic products, his nightwear, his cozy blankets. Hell he even missed his evening platter of tea. Most of all, he missed his caretaker, Ryan, and his usual proddings right before bed. 

“Have you finished with your chores?” “Drink some water before you head off.” “Don't eat that now, you'll never sleep.” 

He missed hearing his brother bitch about stupid things, such as a wrinkle in his favorite shirt he never wears because if he did, he'd wrinkle it. He'd listen in on his parent's bitter bickering. He missed it. He missed home. 

As he lay there amidst a sea of all too thin blankets and sheets, listening to his new, worryingly quiet roommate feverishly working on what he came to realize was a dream catcher not unlike the ones he'd heard the gypsies used, he found himself missing the chaos and commotion that was what he'd known as home for nearly 20 years. 

Hours had passed before the younger of the two put out the fire and carefully shut out the last of the light in their dull, empty room. He blindly fumbled about, struggling to find his way into bed and collapsed into a deep sleep instantaneously. Above him, nestled gently on the wall, was his hastily made dream catcher. Maybe it was the glow of the moon or someone else's lamp light, but Toby could have sworn the dream catcher was glowing just a tad bit. He stared at it until he too fell asleep. 

And, just like every night since just before he'd turned twelve, he found himself experiencing the day as someone else, someone new. 

He found himself adorned in a dazzling coat, new and stiff. One thought lingered on his mind repeat itself over and over again. Uncomfortable. 

Everything was uncomfortable! His pants were scrunching up funny around his knees, his shoes were a size too small, his shirt was scratching against his skin and he was almost embarrassed to admit to himself that it was chafing his nipples. 

He couldn't wait for this stupid dinner party to be done and over with. He looked himself over in the mirror one last time, still not satisfied with his hair but utterly unable to do absolutely anything about it. With a heavy sigh he settled his thoughts and forced about an air of confidence he didn't actually have and decorated his face with a cheeky grin.

His let posture straighten itself out as he left the confines of this room and he was instantly greeted by a very familiar face. The man who interrupted his earlier conversation with the other Edeen boy. What had he been referred to as? Swagger? Yes, it was Swagger, the stranger's thoughts confirmed this.

The shorter man, while equally as nicely dressed, wore about his own face a look of pure and utter despair. This made him stop. His own smile vanished and he felt the sudden urge to puke. He swallowed that urge and buried it deep. He decided that maybe tonight he'd eat light. He put a reassuring hand on Swagger's shoulder and let the touch linger for a second before patting him lightly and moving on. 

Several winding halls lead him out on to a lavishly decorated balcony overlooking an entire ballroom larger than he'd ever been inside filled from door to walls with people  
All of whom turned to face him and an eruption of cheers that bounced off the walls and deafened him. He couldn't explain the pain this brought him. He didn't yet know why this was so upsetting. 

I don't deserve this. 

Why he thought this was beyond him, but it wasn't a thought, not even a belief, it was a fact. Whatever he did that had this group worshiping the very ground he was standing on wasn't because of him. No, it was, but it wasn't right. It was perhaps as wrong as it could get. 

Then, from his left, there emerged a young lad adorned in perfect armor leading the new king Kryoz. He looked towards him, desperate for help, knowing he'd get none, that this had to be done, this speech of honor, this dinner, this night, this whole fucking celebration was for him, for what he did, because the people needed some good news after this agonizing year. He knew and still he hoped that the king would call it all off. He didn't.

The king came and embraced him in a manner that implied that the two had known each other since diapers. However shitty he felt seconds ago was gone. Relief flooded his system. A shaky breath fell from him and a genuine smile cracked his lips. The king parted and proudly brought his arm out to put him on display and a second roar of applause and cheering arose from the crowd.

“My gentle folk,” began the king. He stopped listening. He stood perfectly still, his smile never fading, and gazed down at the people below.

He let his mind wander and this was a mistake. In an instant he no longer saw this glamorous ballroom, he saw a room, small, marble, and riddled with the Nextic. In his hand was a blade coated in blood from it's jagged tip to it's hilt. The body was not with him. Not anymore. It had fallen limp over the ledge. All that was left was the droplets at his feet and the sudden realization of what he'd done. Who he'd killed. The unjust murder of a friend had come to devour every last thought of his. Every word the king said was a stab in his gut. The people smiling below, basking in his glory, pride wafting off them in suffocating waves, it was all too much. He shot the king another desperate glance and the familiar taste of bile returned to him. Kryoz caught the look and hastily wrapped up his speech. Another undeserved clamor of cheers came about the people below them and the two quickly parted.

“You ok?”

“I'm far from ok,” he snapped back a little more harshly than he'd intended. 

“Will you be able to make it through the dinner?”

He huffed, the very thought of having to sit, complacent and quiet and listening to every royal bitch and whore talk endlessly about how brave he was for slaying the menace, detailing how much they hated… he couldn't. He couldn't bare to hear one more bad thing said about them. He couldn't do it. 

“Only if you get me too drunk to speak first.”

“That's not a good-”

“Look at me, John! I'm not sure what weighs more, the jewels or the lies. This has to stop. I can't do this dinner. Not this time.”

The king looked hopeless. He almost felt bad. He then remember just how distressing this was for him too, what secrets he was hiding and what truths he was being forced to bite back in order to keep the peace. Oh the foes and woes of politics.

“I understand,” he said at last, “I'll make sure you aren't bothered. Do you want Swagger-?”

“I'll go find Toby.”

He turned sharply on his heel and the world vanished in a black flash.

A sharp scream tore him away from this vision and he sat up in alarm, feverish with fear and confusion. Who had that been? When could that have possibly taken place? Moreover, why was his roommate screaming at the witching hour?

He struggled to get the lamp working and looked over just in time to see Ezra secure a torn bit of his blanket tightly around his stomach. It didn't take more than a glance to notice the substantial amount of blood soaking through the makeshift tourniquet. He tore from the bed and vanished out into the hall, barely closing the door behind him. 

Had he'd been more awake, he would have wondered more about why the dream catcher was now also bleeding an inky black. He had, at that time, thought it to have been a trick of the tired mind and promptly returned to sleep. 

He spent the rest of the night unbothered by visions and was pleased to awake the next morning well rested and feeling much better than when he'd first arrived at Walluwalky University. 

Moreover, he awoke with absolutely no memory of the vision that defied every solid rule his visions had. He awoke to a knock at the door and all memory of any dreams he'd had that night left him in an instant. He did remember, however, that he'd be woken up by a staff member taking roll just to ensure everyone was where the should be and that his roommate had taken off in the middle of the night bleeding heavily for no apparent reason and- he stopped to examine the room and upon this quick expectation- said roommate had yet to return. He wondered vaguely as he opened the door and if this was a problem of sorts. 

And thus began his first awful day at Walluwalky with forgotten prophecy, some sketchy rules made by a grotesque beast, and an absent companion. 

If only he knew just how often these three things would occur in his future. Maybe he never would have applied to Walluwalky. Perhaps things would have ended differently.

But such a story cannot be told as that simply isn't what happened. Toby did apply to Walluwalky, he got in, and history followed him, closely watching his every move and recording everything in a little book titled, “important.”


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, actual story is coming, I just need to assert some base plot first in some sort of entertaining way. This is a poor example but you catch my drift

Only then had the first rays of light managed to surpass the staggering height of the Edeen skyscrapers. Ezra sat motionless in the hastily put together cot. He mindlessly picked at the stitches he'd gotten maybe two hours earlier. The pain had since then faded. Doctors had come and asked time and time again the same repetitive questions and he half wished that the pain would return because honestly it would probably be better than having to answer everything again for the eighth time.

“Did you smell any lavender before you started bleeding?”

“No.”

“Did you feel a phantom pair of hands holding you down?”

“No?”

“Did you see a corporeal red silhouette?”

“No.”

“Did you get pricked by any needles today?”

“No.”

“Are you missing a noticeable chunk of your hair?”

“No!”

Bizarre questions that they were, they were all very important in figuring out what kind of a hex could have possibly caused this. Or so they reasoned.

Unbeknownst to them, Ezra already knew what did this and had no intention of telling anyone. After the ninth round of the same questions, he answered all of them with one of two options, “I'm tired” or “I can't recall”. And after what seemed like forever, they gave up and let him be to whisper amongst themselves

He thought back. He wondered for a moment which loop he'd gotten wrong. Had he miscounted again? He doubted that. Usually other things got to him when he did. Then again, it wasn't entirely outside of the realm of possibilities. Regardless of last night's mistakes, he'd be sure not to repeat them. The trip to the infirmary had bitten into his work load and he had no intention of putting himself further behind. 

Part of him was torn between trying to return to sleep and risk being attacked again without the safety-net of the dreamcatcher or to just get up and bolt. It wouldn't be long before the doctors would return and try to press further on what had happened. He was sick of it. 

Before he could come to a decision, his courtesy curtains were drawn back. His heart sank a bit, as there went any hope of either running or sleeping. 

Standing before him wasn't any of the doctors he'd been met with as of yet and judging by their more astute and less uniformed garb, he doubted they were doctors at all. In fact, he recognized at least one of the two guests. 

The headmaster stood about a foot behind the other man. With an encouraging nod from this new stranger, the headmaster excused themself and shut the curtains behind them.

The man cleared his throat before dutifully introducing himself, “Kugo the Mighty, young man, and I assume you're the one master Ezra of Greenesline.”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, not certain if this was going to be a scolding or more prodding and he found himself not wanting either. 

“Excellent. The doctors say that you appear to have been attacked late last night and-” he stopped, stole a glance at the mess of bandages and took them as proof- “they were unable to identify which curse or hex it was that maimed you so. We hope to apprehend the caster responsible for causing such harm on a freshman-”

“That's great. Hey listen, I'm just like….really tired. It's been a long night and honestly I haven't gotten much sleep and I have class in about an hour and I was just sorta hoping to get some rest before I have to go. Can we discuss this another time maybe?”

“Absolutely not.”

He sank back into the bed more irritated than he'd been in a long while. Kugo sighed heavily, not at all a morning person and not one for rotten shit heads. Certainly not one for both at the same time. Why had he become a professor again? Whatever the reason and the annoyances it had brought him, he was still a man of knowledge and curiosity demanded he find the answers to the questions he came equipped with this morning.

“Now then. I too have been over the usual proofs of hexes capable of this sort of injury and you don't seem to radiate any remaining auras nor seem to express any fleeting symptoms. So I think it's high time we stop wasting everyone's time and just tell those trying to help what it was exactly that attacked you last night. Was it your roommate? Was this a terrible hazing? A harsh warning to get you to flee from this school? I know your reputation and I'm very well aware how cruel kids can be. But regardless of past...accidents, I cannot allow for such maltreatment. As a professor and a guardian of my pupils, I can assure you that your safety is of my highest concern. I would very much like to nip this in the bud before then infirmary becomes a permanent place of residence for you.”

It amazed Ezra just how much this man spoke. He worried that if he kept quiet that then the man would never shut up. Maybe he'd get saved by the tolling of the bell and have an excuse to flee, free from this nonsense at last.

“Well?”

“What?” oh shit, he'd quit listening like five minutes ago. Hed tuned out at “hexes capable” what did he say?

“Was this an attack made by other students?”

“What? No.” Wait shit! He should have said that. He should have just made up some names, put together a description that couldn't possibly fit any students here and just hope. But it was too late, the words had left his mouth and now he was stuck living with the consequences of his actions.

“Then what, pray tell, did this?” he gestured towards the coagulation of bandages and stitches.

Ezra stared at the professor for a moment hoping that some excuse or clever lie would come to help him but he was tired and for whatever reason the only thing he could think about was how Kugo's mighty tie clashed severely with that suite jacket.

Finally he gave up. It had been his experience that no matter how important they were, secrets never stayed secret. So long as the people in on the secret could be trusted, then at least it wouldn't get very far. He sighed and shut his eyes.

“It was human,” or at least it used to be, “and it…” he stopped not sure how to out this without sounding completely crazy. Then he remembered just where exactly he was and relaxed knowing that this shit probably happened all the time. “And it's not from here.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The headmaster strained with all their might to listen in on the hushed voices behind the curtain. Without needing to be told of the lack of any hex residue or something along those lines, they already knew that nothing in this school had attached the boy. It wasn't “what,” per se, that intrigued them, it was “how”. How did they manage to come into contact and could it happen again? 

Unfortunately, Kugo had been utterly unable to pry any useful information out of the young one and they were tired of this song and dance. The boy was hiding something, something important. 

It didn't matter much. He could keep his secrets, the rotten little wretch. Already there was ample proof and evidence concerning a direct disaster. They could already feel the weight of their mail bin and the sheer amount of angry papers sure to come. Not wanting to delay on this matter, as it would only hurt them more than help, they fled, not bothering to listen to the boy attempt to describe the truths they already knew.

Far too graceful for their appearance to promise, they slipped out of the infirmary and moved down a series of winding halls until they came into their own office set in the innermost heart of the building. 

They pulled from a stack of parchment a small scrap. A flurry of movements made by the four fingered hand stained the page in a collection of desperate, inky letters. They rolled the scrap up nice and neat, removed their small carrier pigeon, and secured the note to it's ankle before releasing it out the window. They watched it bob and weave over the trees and through the clouds, vanishing from sight, lost to the over saturated sunrise. There was someone who would just love to hear about this last night's attack on this freshman boy. 

Now all they had to do was prove their theory. That wouldn't be hard considering the fact that the boy had morning classes. A quick slip into his room-

They stopped their thoughts in their tracks. They'd forgotten about the roommate. How were they going to avoid both boys? They shook their head with a wet chuckle. What a foolish question that had been. This was a college. Boys in college were often trouble makers. What shenanigans would they get up to? Well there was a vast many. They just had to frame him for one. Perhaps they could avoid trouble and offer a deal. Of course, they'd have to investigate a tad into this boy. Which family he belonged to, any relatives that might have attended, and from that they'd pull together a rough profile on which to judge the boy. Yes, they could move on from there. For now, finding and conferencing with the child was a step in the right direction. 

They rang a small bell and in mere moments they were joined by a small staff member. They tore through yesterday's dorm papers until he found the freshman's pile. They read through them quickly and at last landed on room H15. They pointed to it, getting uncomfortably close to the underpaid underling. 

“I need you to wake this boy and bring him to my office. Do tell him it's important and to be quick about it. Go on then, I'm very busy and haven't got all day!”

The staff member took a second more to memorize the room number before dashing out of the room as quickly as their small legs could let them. 

Alone once again, the headmaster began to try and construct their plan. They glanced down at the name of the boy doomed to see them so early. A smile smeared their lips up until the corners just about touched their bulging ears.

Toby Radion. They commit the name to memory just like that. After all, one never knows when a real name might come in handy. 

Kugo left the infirmary feeling like a changed man. In no more than ten minutes, he'd learned more about the world, or rather worlds, than ten years of teaching had provided him. He was surrounded by brilliant minds and talented people, all were heavily armed with their own knowledge and had their own views of this world but none quite like what he'd just heard. For the first time since he'd discovered he was magic wielding, he found himself buzzing with excitement and trembling with terror. There are many unknowns to magic and this paradox he'd been given yielded so many more while answering perhaps the most dreaded question mankind had ever asked itself. 

However terrifying this new information proved itself to be, Kugo was thrilled. At last he had a new objective to work towards. One with countless possibilities and no real answers to gain or give. It was, without a doubt, every professors’ goal to find a magic that spoke to them so and he was thrilled to have found one. 

His mind was bustling, his heart was racing. His classroom couldn't be close enough. He burst through his doors and ran to his desk. Immediately, he began detailing his hypothesis up his blackboard, highlighting the questions he still had and what he hoped to accomplish. Good things could be had here. Amazing things! He had the questions, Ezra had the answers, and they both had a common goal. 

After an hour of feverish scribbling, Kugo took a step back just to confirm that he'd gotten everything. There, in the middle of the chalkboard in bold letters read perhaps the most important question. 

What is the Nextic?


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight gore. Not like a lot? But it's not exactly clean either.

Harvest week always fell on the same week as school. It was the most important week for the people of Greenesline. Parents could finally get the money they needed to provide their children with new clothes and shoes and the required school books for that year. Teachers were given a slight boost in pay. For a month following harvest week, every beggar and nobleman alike would be plump and healthy having been able to actually afford decent food. 

While Greenesline's mirror rock roads were stained an odd red, harvest week would breathe unto them a new, unique gleam of radiant color. 

The mayor of Greenesline would hire the younger generation to decorate the streets. She provided them with yards and yards of multi colored fabrics, a vast collection of stained glass lanterns, candles that when lit burned different colors, flowers to plant as they saw fit, and the teens were tasked with building and decorating the shop stands. 

When first proposed, the thought of giving valuable money to children was outrageous. But within the first year that this was practiced, the adults found that children often add a necessary boost to the economy as, while the younger ones are more self centered, they don't always focus on candy and toys. Most children bought gifts either for each other or for their families. On top of this, whatever they didn't spend they'd keep until later, easing some financial stress off of their parents’ shoulders. Plus, the work experience was healthy and creative, allowing the children to explore the world of the working class in a healthy and far less stressful manner. By year three, every adult encouraged their child to join the decorating commitee. By year five, not a single child was excluded.

This year, the kids had taken to creating a roof of near transparent fabric connected by the towering lamp posts. They dangled the stained glass lanterns through the cracks. The whole street was a living, breathing rainbow. As far as Birdie could tell, the children seemed very pleased with themselves. While chaotic, it was orderly, and a beautiful sight to behold. 

 

The booths we're all made to complement the decor around them. The teens had let the kids decorate first before finishing things up. Unable to find a good place to put up shop signs, they had painted each booth to fit the one who'd use it. Slowly, farmers would arrive and spot their booths without the need for the catalogue and quickly stock it. 

Before long, each stand would be filled with goods and services ranging from fresh fish, fruit, fabric, jewels, and even furniture. If you could name it, it could be found. 

Before the hour could reach 9 people's pockets could be be heard jingling. By noon, the people were all a bit better off financially. The day simply didn't have enough hours in it. 

For most.

The day had been long and dull and Bordie was desperate for some action. School never really called to her the way it had her sister. She found the pursuit of knowledge to be one that had to come naturally and unpaced. That's why there were so many good damn libraries, or so she reasoned. A thought that, for some reason, only seemed to dawn on her. 

Her classmates were all still bright eyed and excited, each trying to assert their best side of their dreadful personalities to try and lure in new friends. She'd give them all a month before introducing herself properly. 

Still, alone and already homesick, she could think of no better thing to do than return home for what she'd soon come to realize would be for the last time, and enjoy one more harvest week. 

The pink scarf wrapped around her neck fluttered excitedly in the wind. She stood, patient and still at the carriage pickup. Fourteen miles is an awfully long ways to walk and she'd worn her favorite pair of sandals to complete her look. She didn't mind the high fee for one day of fun. Besides, she was certain she'd make it all back. 

“Oh. It's you.” She turned sharply to address who it was disturbing her peace. She bit back the anger once she recognized the other Greenesline child special enough to get to attend Walluwalky. She couldn't help the smile that brightened her features.

“Attending harvest week too, are we?”

“I just need to get a few things.”

“I see.” 

Silence separated them. Neither knew the other well enough to try and force the conversation further and honestly only one of the parties involved actually wanted to continue the conversation at all. 

He thought she was weird and she wasn't certain if he was destined to be the villain or doomed to be the hero. But the silence was awkward and unbearable and unable to stand it anymore longer both broke it at the very same time.

“Wanna split the travel fee?”

“Wanna make some money?”

This of course lead to a clumsy collection of “oh sorry, go ahead.” “No, you were saying?” And after a solid minute and a half of that, Bordie grew sick of it and repeated herself.

“I was just asking if you'd like to help me make some money. I'll split it with you.”

He went quiet and thought for a second. She watched the wheels in his brain tumble and turn and found herself slightly amused by it. At last he answered, “How?”

A new, mischievous smile pinched her cheeks. 

For years, Bordie and her mother participated in Harvest week as more of a scam than an actual business. Her mother would dress her up in exotic looking clothes, decorate her face with false gems, and equip her with the important task of luring in customers. She had but one line to say. “The stars have said many things about you. Come and hear them for yourself.” 

She was four when they stopped. It's a memory that was too fuzzy to remember with perfect clarity and one she hadn't thought about in years.

As a girl, her mother would dress her up all nice and exotic. They'd take some sheets and pitch a tent on the outskirts of the main festivities and they'd welcome in strangers to come and have their futures seen for them. It was a busy time of year for them too. She remembered one year when a duke stopped by with his nephew. She hadn't been there for the for telling. All she could remember was that she'd been yelled at for playing with the boy. After the two left, her mother began to pack up as quickly as she could. The very next day before the birds could start singing, they left Greenseline. Her mother took her to a small town lost to the swamp lands where they were looked after by a small church lead by a man known father Matthews. 

And then the sun rose. Or so she'd thought at first. It took her years to learn that she'd seen no sun that morning. She saw the first fire that started a bloody and needles war. The sight of which drove her mother to drinking. From then on, she couldn't recall a moment of her past where he beloved mother wasn't sad, scared, or drunk. She remembered quite clearly hearing her atone late at nights, particularly after Father Matthews left and never returned. All she ever said was, “Forgive me. I didn't know. Forgive me.” 

They returned home when she was twelve. It was almost as if her mother was trying to start over- like she was trying to prove herself. She brought in the hopeless, the hapless, and the damned and gave them all a glimpse into a time in which they'd find joy. And joy, in turn, returned to them.

All of these memories came and went, interrupted by glimpses into a thousand futures yet to come and quite likely never to occur. She watched, quietly and disbelieving of the endings to a thousand stories. She hastily judged the possibilities and weighed her options but there were so many that she more often than not forget timelines and she'd never think to register when she'd fallen into a bad one. 

Had she'd known that the person she'd soon meet would alter the course of fate forever, she never would have gone. Or maybe she would have paid her mother a visit and said goodbye properly. 

“How long have you been participating in Harvest week?”

“I was never allowed to.”

“So you don't know anything about Madame Melody and her darling daughters?”

“I've heard stories,” a slight pause spaced each word. 

That was a lie. He was far more involved with Madame Melody and her darling daughters than he let on.

One year, one good awful year, his mother had removed herself from the safe confined of the small farm house and sought out Madame Melody. She returned, panicked and angry. When Madame Melody had informed her that her strangest son would be featured in history books for forever more, she of course was thrilled. She was thrilled for several reasons. The first being the fact that she was, at that time, pregnant with her first born and this had informed her that she'd successfully bring the babe into the world and live long enough to bring in a number of others. What more, she'd have sons! Having a daughter wouldn't upset her, but sons would please her husband who'd enjoy having some helping hands to tend to the farm. Then, to top off all of this wonderful news, one of her children would go on to be an important part of history. What more could a mother want? 

So when her husband brought home that tiny baby so many years ago, she panicked. The child radiated a strange evil. All she could think was how he'd never be some grand general who lead the people to a splendid victory. He'd be the monster a grand army would defeat. She didn't need a fortune teller to tell her this. 

For years she'd repeat Madame Melody's prophecy. She'd repeat it after every time Ezra got in trouble while she beat him, she'd repeat it word for word every time he was unable to control his magic abilities while she cowered and bravely put herself between Ezra and her family. She'd repeat it every time he upset her. Then the incident happened. He thought she'd drown him. He wasn't sure it was luck or proof when she got sick.

He never thought about it before, but all at once, hearing the name of the one who's caused so much torment, he found himself absolutely hating Madame Melody. 

“Well, stories don't do justice! You've gotta experience the work of Madame Melody and her darling daughters in person.” She sling an arm over his shoulders and pulled him in close, as if she was getting ready to set up a pitch to a business guaranteed to revolutionize everything. “My boy, with just a tent, some dramatic movements, and unusual knowledge of any person, we can rack up at least two dot and three bar!”

“Sounds like a scam.”

“Most of it is. But I found that if you scam it up a little bit and throw in a solid chunk of truth, you'll get yourself a good army of loyal customers desperate for more!”

He pulled away from her, his back not at all a fan of the hunched position she'd forced him into. 

“So what, you snatch their wallets, learn their name, take a few coins, and say some bullshit and they're just gonna believe you?”

“Madame Melody gave out bullshit. She'd tell people all the time how love was rapidly approaching, or a sudden spike in wealth. What she didn't say was that the love was going to last only a night and that the money was left to you in a will because guess what? He's going to be murdered. She used to. I don't like that game. You came for the truth, I'll give you the truth!”

“Prove it.”

She was baffled by the demand. No, baffled is the wrong word to use here. Offended. Yes, that's it! She was offended by the demand and torn between telling Racc, no wait...he hasn't decided upon that name just yet...Ezra, yes Ezra. She was torn between telling Ezra to go fuck himself or to show him some awful, terrible, vicious part of his future just to get back at him-

Hold on. That was exactly what she was going to do. In a pregnant pause, Extra watched this girl's face melt away a smile and replace it with a look of pure hatred only for it to return to a smile. A sinister smile, sure, but a smile nonetheless. 

A hand sliced the air and hang a short distance away from the boy.

“Give me your hand.”

“No, you're just going to say some cryptic ass shit and make up names again!”

“Give me. Your. Hand!” 

There were many reasons why he listened to her that time. The biggest would have been the fact that a stranger had yelled at him. 

Without thought nor hesitance, by the time she'd reached the word “Your” he'd let her take a firm grip on his wrist. 

“The stars speak your name,” she whispered beneath her breath.

Ezra watched, doubtful, as she fell into a near comatose state, as still as a statue. For a second, she twitched. His wrist, caught inside her stone tight grip, began to burn. He twisted sharply to get away from her but nothing he did help. The pain was unbearable and rapidly spreading up his arm. 

With a blink of the eye, he was not helplessly suffering at the hands of a certainly crazy lady. He was lost to a sea of clouds that stretched ever on ahead of him, almost impossibly so. The sun had began to paint them all carrying shades of pink, orange, and purple. But it wasn't the phantasmal sight that held his attention as captive as his wrist. 

What held his heart in a beatless pace was below him. A glimmer of light was rising slowly from a crumpled body with barely anything left on it. Had he'd not witnessed what had happened, he never would have believed this was once a person.

A scream tore from his lungs. He gripped the handle of a scythe tighter and plummeted to the earth enveloped by a plume of a strange, purple substance. The sand erupted in a mound of dust upon his sudden and destructive landing. He watched the tarnage uninterested and uncaring. Surrounding him was a crown of shards of glass that rose higher than the nearest buildings and trees. 

It registered in his head that it was slicing open his feet, but beyond the fact that he knew he was bleeding, he never would have known he'd been hurt at all.

He advanced onward, armed and seeing red. He stared daggers at the cause of this. He knew, deep down, growing in the pain, a part of him knew that it wasn't their fault. They didn't know. They weren't the ones to blame. Unfortunately a louder, aching part of him was screaming over and over about this murderer and how he needed to pay.

And even still, a far weaker part of him didn't care at all. It pained for the lost one. He forgot the murderer in an instant and ran to the heap. Never once did he look down. His attention was focused solely on the shimmering light that continued to drift away. He turned away but only for a moment, desperate and terrified. 

His eyes fell on the lantern. He snatched it from the sand and fought to get it open. He had one shot and if he missed….

The lantern soared through the air, catching the light before racing to the ground. Joy momentarily caught up with the grief. For a second he had reason to celebrate. Riding the adrenaline rush, he brought his scythe about him and leapt off the ground ready to catch it before it could vanish beneath the angry waves. 

He saw the flash of something light tan and thin only a second before he felt a sting and a sharp tug around his neck. Sand suddenly scraped along his back as he tumbled uselessly back to the earth. An ugly flap of a cloak he knew all too well fell up and over his head. He flailed hoping to regain his ability to see and still save the lantern. A small ray of light caught his eye. Before he could discern colors apart, the awful tug at his neck returned. Along with it came the scrape of sand beneath him. He stopped being able to breath. All at once he realized he was being dragged.

The wooded handle of his scythe bit at his hands. He returned his old grip and swung it about aimlessly. It's blade caught something and just as suddenly as his strangled journey began it ended. He fought to pull lungfuls of air in to replace the ones that left. Choking he shakily got to his feet. 

Anger replaced panic. That brat held in his stupid hands the very lantern he'd just damn near about died for. 

“You vile son of a bitch! Give it back!” He shouted. The boy stumbled back, alarmed and terrified. 

The ground beneath them rumbled. He didn't care. He didn't care that at one point, they'd been close. He didn't care that he couldn't control it. He could not be alone again. God not again. 

With the raise of his scythe the odd purple substance shot up from the Sandy ground and grew up towards the heavens stopping once it reached about fifty feet in the air. From it's girth separated five segments until it mimicked a strange, long fingered hand. The nails of this hand sprouted feverishly towards the boy holding the lantern. 

He didn't care that this would only hurt his cause. He didn't care if this was ten steps backwards. He didn't care if this boy died. Not any more. No, in fact he greatly encouraged it. Besides? What harm was one death anyway?

Before the death of the Nextic could reach the boy, a bright flash blinded him. The light of the sun caught on the broadsword of a man adorned in a spotless suit of armor.

And with another blink of an eye, he was back, wrist caught in a crazy lady's grip, mossy path soundly below his feet, with no scythe in sight. The only thing that remained almost untouched by this shift between worlds was his cloak, still every it as ugly and tattered as always. 

Again he yanked his hand back and this time it came free. He stared at Bordie feeling exhausted as the last bit of phantom pain from the crash land left him. 

He now understood the look she gave him when they'd first met on the train. He finally understood what it was his mother claimed she always saw. 

She struggled to recuperate herself, having just experienced the same thing with him. She hoped that one of these days, she could see into the futures without having to be part of them, but until then, she would simple have to pretend that she wasn't struggling to steady her own racing heart and remember how to breath. She straightened herself out, forced herself to look at Ezra, only slightly regretful of showing him that.

“I can't lie like my mother can because I don't tell people the truth, I show them.”


	7. Six

Toby stepped tenderly into the large office of the Headmaster. Many things caught his attention all at once. For one thing, the office lived in the heart of the building and yet somehow there were five windows circling the office, looking out onto stone and brick, letting in nothing more than the darkest of shadows instead of any light. He silently judged the purpose of these windows. The next thing that caught his eye was the desk that sat in the dead center of the room. Surrounding it was a mountain of papers all messily coagulating about without any rhyme or reason. It framed the desk, almost, putting it on display. The desk, too, appeared to be a jumbled mess. All of this was set up in a way that made the Headmaster look absolutely monstrous in size.

Not a single part of him wanted to be alone in the same room with the Headmaster. This uneasy feeling was well warranted. It was a survival mechanism at this point. 

“Come in, child. Don't be shy,” spoke the Headmaster gruffly. Toby shuddered at the sound. How it managed to reach him before their mouth could move was still so very unsettling. He hated it. So very much. 

Hesitantly, Toby approached the desk. Two small underlings ran out from a mess of junk and hastily provided him with a small chair. They did not leave until he had been seated. 

Yellow eyes sluggishly followed the frantic movements of the underlings. Once the Headmaster was certain they were gone, they began to speak.

“I taught your mother, you know. A brilliant woman that one. So skilled, so talented. It's been quite a while since great talent such as hers has been under my roof.”

His mouth ran dry. He was unable to put strength behind his voice and fought the urge to curl in on himself.

“My mother holds no magical abilities, Headmaster.”

The headmaster leaned back in their chair, the poor thing releasing an agonized whine in protest. They ran a finger under their chin in deep thought. At last they managed to grumble, “Perhaps that was your aunt then.”

Toby froze. He had no memory of an aunt. No. No that wasn't right. He had memories of a person. There'd been a woman in his life, kind and powerful. He remembered this woman being very prominent in his childhood. She was the one who showed him how to best control his abilities. He remembered how one day she simply vanished, how devastated he was, how desperate his mother had been, and how just as suddenly as she left, they all forgot about her. She was never again mentioned, or thought about. She was gone. 

He found it odd that the more he tried to remember her, her face, what color her hair had been, her voice, it all got worse. She became cut out of the picture in his memories until she was nothing more than a formless shadow. He knew only of her presence, and then he couldn't tell if it was a her, then he doubted there'd ever been anyone at all. Perhaps he'd made up a fantasy to fit what the Headmaster had suggested. 

He didn't like that thought.

“I don't have and aunt, Headmaster,” he squeaked. 

Maybe it was just how their lumpy face was, but Toby could have sworn he saw the faintest trace of a smug grin daub their dry lips. 

“Regardless, the Radion family is welcomed here with wide open arms. I've been around long enough to have the honor of teaching four generations. You have a hefty set of expectations set upon you, my boy.”

Now Toby was struggling to remember any of his family members. He mainly wanted to recall those capable of magic. There was himself, his brother, and their uncle through marriage but other than that, he had no idea where the magical abilities could have come from. Moreover, he couldn't remember any blood related family member outside of their immediate household.

“Because I respect your lineage and because I have no doubts that you will exceed my expectations, I'm making you an offer. As it would turn out, we happen to have an extra room available for the freshman. I couldn't help but notice you've gotten saddled with a roommate, and a very troublesome one as well. I'd like to offer you this extra room.”

For reasons Toby couldn't quite explain, the offer terrified him. There was something about being suddenly alone in a room that the Headmaster had set up after mentioning family members Toby wasn't sure existed that told him to stay as far away from the room as humanly possible. He'd take his chances with the cursed kid. As he'd learned during the assignment reading, there was a safety in numbers. 

He was scared and desperate for a reason to remain in this illusion of safety. 

“Actually sir, my roommate and I are close friends. I'd hate to have to part with him.”

He winced on the inside. He'd manage to get his voice to steady itself, but he could still hear just how saturated that lie was. He hoped against all hope that the Headmaster hadn't picked up on it.

They rubbed their lips together in thought. Toby squirmed under their unblinking gaze. They leaned forward, displeased but not worried about this predicament.

“Son, I adore a solid friendship as much as the next, but I fear for your safety if you remain with him. This morning he'd been attacked. He hasn't been here a full day. What happens to you should the others come to learn of your relations?”

It was how they had said “relations” that made Toby get defensive. It was almost as if the Headmaster was implying that Toby and Ezra were far closer than just friends. It implied on further indicating that he would be targeted, not because he was allies with Ezra, but because they were, in this scenario, fucking. Was the Headmaster warning him away from a hate crime? Or where they threatening it?

No, no that wasn't right. That wasn't a threat or a warning. It was a fucking promise. Suddenly the door appeared to be just way too far away. There was freedom. Eighty two thousand feet too far away from him. He wanted more than anything to be out of this room and on an entire planet light years away from the Headmaster. 

“While I appreciate your concerns, I think I'll take my chances,” the look the Headmaster made discouraged him and he jumped to the next lie to save himself, “My grandmother once told me to welcome the onslaught of hexes as they are the best way to learn both defence and recovery tricks.”

“I insist-”

“I think I'll take my chances,” he repeated hastily. He panicked and went on, far less confident than he had been before, “With all due respect of course. Thank you for this kind gesture, Headmaster, but I do believe there are several other freshman more open to it.”

He held his breath and waited anxiously for the Headmaster's reaction, fearing the inevitable explosion of anger and expecting only the worst possible outcome of this exchange. 

The Headmaster leaned back again with a grumble that was completely incomprehensible. They mulled over their options. Squinted eyes pierced through Toby. 

The phrase “saved by the Bell” had in this case become quite literal as above them came the tolling of the bells prompting students to head on to their classes. Toby jumped to his feet thanking the unnamed good for the means of escape. The Headmaster made no move to stop him and this fact worried him so much more. 

He frantically raced out into the hall. He rushed to find any other human being to cling to and make up a fake friendship with. The unnamed god, in her mercy, granted him the short man he now knew as Swagger. 

He leapt into step with him, effortlessly striking up a friendly conversation as if they'd known each other for years. Swagger, having discovered very recently the effects of some of his...experiments, had no memory of getting out of bed and had no idea where he was going and thus just assumed that he did know Toby and had forgotten him just as easily as he forgot to put on shoes. Hey wait a minute. Where...where were his shoes?

Toby gladly assisted Swagger to class, checking over his shoulder every now and again. Everytime he did, he found himself growing more alarmed and afraid as the Headmaster was indeed following him. 

Bordering on hysteria, he shoved Swagger through the closest classroom door and took the first seats they could find. He kept up the oddly one sided conversation for as long as he could until at long last the second bell rang. The Headmaster glared at Toby a moment longer before shifting out of sight but not out of mind. 

Half an hour later, Swagger leaned over and whispered as softly as he could so as not to disturb the others, “Hey, don't get mad but who are you and what class is this?”

And, to no one's surprise, Toby had no clue how to respond. Wordlessly he nodded, and Swager assumed he'd asked a different question and had just gotten an answer. If only he could remember what he'd asked. He hoped it wasn't important. 

If his dad could see him now, he'd be shaking his head. Swagger tried his best to ignore just how badly he'd be a disappointment. The experiments helped some, but also made it so much worse. His happy high crashed with that awful thought. He stared dead ahead at the teacher, not processing a word they said, and drew comfort from being besides a person capable of putting up with him. Even if at this particular moment he couldn't remember who they were. 

Kugo had found himself very busy this first day of school, unlike the stoned man in the wrong class. The syllabus was long as most were when involving magic. It's a wild thing that most people can't get a strong grasp on. He'd seen many students get transported in walls, some got stuck to the ceiling, others simply stopped existing. That had been a very bad day. Most of today had been going over what they would and wouldn't be practicing. Years had molded this class course to better fit learning about self defence than it did offensive strategies. Still, that too would be touched upon. Just not heavily.

Hundreds of students came and went for hours on end. At long last he'd finished with his first day and was free to do as he pleased. He gave all of his attention to the blackboard and the near novel he'd written on it earlier that morning. He was so wrapped up in this predicament that he never once noticed the Headmaster lurking outside his door, memorizing every word. Soundlessly, they left. To say that they had bigger fish to fry would be a lie. It wasn't a bigger fish, it was the same fish, just a different section. 

They had scared the Toby boy. While this hadn't been their intention, it did give him a sense of paranoia that would surely force him to seek protection with friends and keep him away from Ezra and the room H15. 

They were, without a shadow of a doubt, pleased to find room H15 empty that evening as Toby was still attached at the hip with that Swagger boy and Ezra had scampered off into town. Room H15 was as void of life as the headmaster was. That is to say, life was bustling, it simply wasn't human.

Yellow eyes landed upon the closet where Ezra's few articles of clothes hang. Above them rested a long shelf that held up a small collection of jars all containing movement. Formless shapes writhed this way and that. Occasionally, the darkness of their bodies would be interrupted by the flash of bright, blue eyes and a sudden gnashing of teeth or claws. 

The headmaster smiled at them the same way a mother would smile upon her children whom she hadn't seen in a while. No, that would require a sort of love that the Headmaster simply wasn't capable of possessing. Indeed, the Headmaster stared at them the way a starving creature would smile at its prey as it tried to lure it into a false sense of security and the poor lesser creature had finally grown close enough to bite at. 

A grubby hand took one from the others and they observed the monster caged in glass. The four fingered hand moved to unscrew the lid. They let the beast crawl out of it's new home and settle in the palm of their hand.

“Interesting,” they hissed. They then counted just how many jars there were. 47. Some looked as though they contained multiple but they wouldn’t hold still long enough to bother counting individually. The headmaster slipped the beast back into the jar before putting the jar away inside a fold in their robes. “Very interesting,” they cooed.

They moved cautiously towards the door, stopping to glance back at the remaining 46 jars. They smiled.

“I'll be back for you, my turtles.”

Imagine if you will, being the last human. For all intents and purposes of this argument, human kind had been attacked by, oh let's just say aliens, and these aliens now inhabit the earth you once called home. They send thousands of your kind into the deep recesses if space without a care in the world. They know that people can't survive in space without proper equipment and they don't care. Years had passed and you are the last human. 

Every now and again you'd hear rumors of others, but every rumor you hear ends the same. That other human had been found and brutally killed. These stories are heartily laughed about. At no point in your life would you ever feel safe in your own skin. You'd do anything and everything to hide the fact that you were human. You'd join in with these horrid stories of possible survivors. 

Then, one glorious day, you discover that there's a boy who has found a way to bring humans back. They found survivors, encountered them, fought them, and now kept them trapped in a dark closet. For why, you don't know. But you do know that it's an easy to kill, never missed or known boy standing in your way of finally putting an end to your loneliness. Now wouldn't this give you hope? Just think about all those humans you could ultimately save. If you had enough of them, maybe you could quietly overtake these awful aliens. You could potentially get your home back. Wouldn't your heart flutter at the thought? 

These were the sort of thoughts that ran through the headmaster's tumbling brain. They vibrated with excitement, clutching tightly onto the tiny monster in their pocket. There were others, alive and well and here! 

And for a second they were torn. They had to report to a higher authority who was interested in this boy for their own selfish reasons. They weren't allowed to spare a single detail about this boy. And if we were to go back to the alien analogy, this authority figure was one of those same aliens that made you so them alone. They were the ones who sent out the demand to find and kill an entire people. The headmaster wanted to hide this discovery. Wouldn’t you? So what they were supposed to do now, they didn't know. But they did know that they were far smarter than this authority figure gave them credit for and they'd figure something out in no time. 

For now, they'd settle with stealing back a creature every now and again. They'd watch the boy with the eyes of a starving hawk. They'd report and edit until the authority figure could never assemble this discovery. And when the time came, they'd whisk the boy away, use him to retrieve their people, and the tides would finally turn in their favor. They just had to wait and watch and learn.

They could do that. With the powers the unnamed God had granted them, they could do so much more than wait.

They returned to Kugo's classroom and knocked politely on the door. They watched the man frantically turn on his heel, annoyed by the sudden company and struggling to collect himself upon remembering his position and the fact that this was to be expected. His features softened immensely when he spotted the slimy face of the Headmaster.

“Don't be a stranger now, come in, come in!” He urged, flipping the black board to hide what he'd been working on and provide them both with a clean slate to work on. 

It wasn't at all abnormal for the Headmaster to approach Kugo with queries, and Kugo found that he quite enjoyed entertaining these questions. It almost made the Headmaster feel sorry for what they'd done and what they'd continue to do. Almost.

They gently set the creature down on Kugo's desk and whipped up their best lie.

“I found this lurking about the H hall. Do you have any idea as to what it could be? Magical creatures are a specialty of yours.”

They weren't. 

Kugo abandoned his chalk and rushed to inspect the creature. He held the jar close to his eye and watched the little thing squirm, angry and hungry. 

“Splendid! Look at the sharp ridges along its dorsal fin. The teeth are hooked, meant to shred. See the nose there, well if it would hold still, it's pointed with several pits. It can probably sense heat, smell fairly well, and breath in liquids as well as air. Though I don't see any gills.”

The headmaster fought back their growing impatience. They knew this already. They saw these same features when it looked in the mirror alone at night. 

“What is it?”

Kugo gently placed the jar back down on his desk and thought for a second. He'd seen crude drawings of these creatures everywhere and it seemed that every culture had a different name for them. The elves called them demons, the dwarves called them leeches, and the humans called them nightmares but their original name slipped his mind. This irritated him. 

He flung himself over his desk, too giddy to simply walk around it, and advanced on his bookshelf. Rapid fingers bounced from spine to spine until at last they fell upon the curly golden letters of a book written in a language the Headmaster understood verbally but not when written. Kugo plopped the book down besides the creature and hastily thumbed through the table of context before just about cutting himself flying through the pages like a mad man. Finally, he stopped and began to read the passage. He smiled, spotting their original name beneath the story of how they'd been banished from this world.

“They're called the Coztic. Believed to be a servant of one of the Disciples of the unnamed God. This one stems from Cocoliztli, or Pestilence as our region would call her. While not affecting mankind the way we most expect them to, ei, with the plague or some form of chickenpox, no now we have anti-vaxxers for that, they infect the mind. They are, as it reads here, 'the ring bearers of insanity.’”

He pulled himself away from the book and glanced at the creature. 

“They've also all been killed during the Great King Dogma's rule. So how this little one managed to escape and survive for so long and then make it into our school is beyond me. I'd ask if we should increase school security guards but if these little things are back, then perhaps we should set up a curfew instead. You know, just try to limit the people's chances of encountering these?”

The Headmaster nodded just to show that they were listening and interested. In some ways they were. For one thing, it was nice to hear their old name again. 

Kugo's brow furrowed further.

“Hang on, this doesn't make any sense.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because when all of the celestials were killed Cocoliztli was also slain. All of her creations should have lost connection with her. They'd all should have starved by now. Unless they've taken to reproducing like rabbits, fast and blind, and no longer caring for their young, it's almost impossible that any could still be around. They really should be completely extinct.”

The Headmaster looked back at the coztic wriggling around inside the jar. Kugo couldn't see what they saw simply because this was the first one he'd ever seen bare. But the headmaster knew their kind and this one, while moving, breathing, and evidently alive, was very much dead. 

“Kugo, who were the other Disciples of the unnamed god?”

Kugo, shutting his book, stopped to think about that answer. It had been a while since he brushed up on his historical knowledge. 

“The four Disciples were Miquiztli, Cocoliztli, Cuāuhtli, and Apiztli.”

“And they were all killed?”

“Well yes. The celestials we're wiped out and with them went the rest of the shattered soul pieces of the four disciples.”

“You're certain?”

“Positive. The soldiers were very thorough. That and there's a list of places and dates in which each disciple died.”

“And with the remaining Celestials killed, those soul pieces would have no one to go to. The power of the disciples and the unnamed god wouldn't be able to be reborn?”

“I mean, yes-” Kugo froze. He turned and began scribbling something down on a sheet of paper again in the language the Headmaster understood verbally but not when written. 

The headmaster took no notice of this. Their attention had gone back to the creature. The need for vengeance and justice was boiling inside their very veins. They were excited to show this new, undead generation just what exactly they were capable of. 

“Thank you, Kugo, you've been very helpful.”

The man didn't respond. He rushed through the last of his own notes to himself before turning back to put the book away.

“No problem. What do you suppose we do with the-”

He turned to address both the Headmaster and the problem that was currently trapped inside a jar on his desk. He was alarmed to find the headmaster standing no less than an inch away. Their five fingered hand reached out and caught his face, covering it completely in its size. 

“I do hate when I have to do this to you, old friend, but I can't let you go wandering about with this sort of knowledge, I just can't. How awful. You know so much, and you’re right about so many things and wrong about so many more. Cocoliztli lives. And so does Miquiztli. May you go forever mad feeling that you're forgetting something, and never remember what it is.”

They released Kugo and watched, satisfied, as the man crumpled to the floor. The first time they did this, they thought they'd killed Kugo. Now, after years of being besides a man too smart for his own good, and too trusting, they'd found that Kugo would wake up, safe in his bed, unable to recall how he'd gotten there or a portion of the day. All time would stop at one point and he would sit wondering what it was he was forgetting. It was always something important but heaven help him, he'd never remember. Alive and, more importantly, unknowing. 

Kugo alone had kept the Headmaster fed keeping them healthy and happy. He'd already forgotten his wife, his family, his origins. Those had been delectable feasts for the Headmaster. There was no telling just how many memories had been devoured, how many years were missing from this man's life, and how many more did he have left to lose. It didn't matter. The Headmaster was more than willing to drain him of every last second. However long that took. They'd call it “early onset Dementia.”

They carefully scooped Kugo into their arms and carried him up and then down a vast supply of stairs until they came into the faculty dorms. Most other teachers were away, either preparing for tomorrow or snagging a few drinks before bed. There wasn't a soul to witness as the Headmaster snuck into Kugo's room and lay him to bed. They even took the time to tuck him on and remove his shoes. It's important to care for your belongings, after all.

As always, Kugo awoke, drowsy and his head spinning, and he could have sworn he was in his classroom discussing something life changing. But who had he been talking to? What what had they been talking about? 

He then remembered his blackboard and the one who triggered such a sporadic haste of writing. Ezra. He had probably been talking to Ezra about the Nextic. He closed his eyes again and hoped that the boy had taken notes to refresh his memory. He did hope to pick up where they'd left off. It seemed so very important.


	8. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OwO what's this? Some budding romance????
> 
> Sorry

People passed them with soft smiles or distrusting glares. Both were well deserved and warranted. Bordie paid them no mind but Ezra continued to shift beneath their gaze. He kept his head down and his hood up. He followed a short distance behind Bordie, allowing her to be the first face seen between the two. 

She stopped in the town square where all roads met in a kaleidoscope of color. She put her hands on her hips and sighed heavily. It had been a while since she'd seen such a marvelous display. 

“Do you think they'll have the fire eaters again this year?”

“No. The mother passed away last week.”

“That's a pity. I liked them.”

Ezra strained to see down each road that branched off. The roof made it nearly impossible to see what all was where. He fought to figure out which Crayola come dump of a display was which on his impossibly tiny map. 

Bordie leapt over to see if she could help some,” What are you looking for?”

“My father's stand.”

“Thanks, asshole, that's real specific. I know exactly what to look out for now. Wow. So helpful.”

Ezra rolled his eyes, unable to bicker back as he had noted three other stands he'd best stop at. Finally he pointed at a small stand painted up with gourds and roots.

“This one! Where's this one?”

Bordie glanced at the small stand and frowned. She looked back at her companion in utter disbelief.

“I hope you didn't drag yourself all the way out here for some onions.”

“No, for my brother. He always runs the shop for the first three days. That and the fields are sick. We couldn't yield any onions this time around. Our pumpkins are splendid though.”

“I didn't know you had a brother.”

“Not by blood. Which road?”

“This one,” she gestured somewhere to her left and began walking, hoping that Ezra would follow and to her delight he did, “Older, younger? Is he cute? Is he one of those, big, strong, and rough farmer boys? Complete with the flannel and the straw hat?”

Ezra side eyed Bordie. He wasn't sure if he should answer these questions. He was almost certain that she was asking them just to get under his skin and it was working. 

“Oh yeah, a scarecrow's wet dreams that one.” He answered. 

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Does nothing but scare the birds, catch fire way too easily, float, and attack just way too many bees.”

“Bees?”

“Yeah. They've made a hive in our scarecrow and now we can't go near it. He finally has a reason to be scared of the damned thing.”

She snorted at the thought of a grown ass man being afraid of a scarecrow. One that was buzzing oddly, nonetheless. 

“He's scared of scarecrows?”

“No, just ours.”

“Why?”

“He claims its out to kill him. And as crazy as it sounds, he's not wrong. He pissed it off pretty badly.”

“Is he magic like you, then?” she asked excitedly. How fantastic. It was already so rare to meet magic users from these parts and to think she'd get to meet two was exciting!

“Not in the slightest. The most he can do is fart for an incredibly long period of time.”

Bordie stifled a laugh. This had obviously been a drag on his brother, one probably meant to deter her from flirting with him but little did Ezra know that Birdie was going to flirt with him anyways, now more than ever, just to make him mad. Of course she could work his words into her approach. Who knows, maybe harping on this farmer's boy would help her win him over. 

“So...you left school to go see your brother while he's working?”

“Yep.”

“That's adorable. I've got a sister and I love her, don't get me wrong, but I can't think of a single reason to go visit her so soon.”

“I just need the keys to the attic.”

“The attic? Every sentence you say gets weirder and weirder.”

“My goal was to say something so bizzare, you stopped asking me stupid questions but it just isn't working. At least we've gotten away from the topic of my brother. I was worried I'd have to start telling you embarrassing stories.”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Yes, actually, there's so many! Where would I start? Do I start with the time he thought the donkey was dying but she was actually just giving birth or do I start with the time he lost his pants to a barbed wire fence running away from a raccoon?”

Bordie started, wide eyes and already far too entertained. 

“I'd like both of these stories, please.”

Ezra grinned, more than happy to divulge into his brother's messy past. He, himself, had several stories he wished he could forget, but they were far more devastating and much less humorous. He envied Matt's lackluster life, how the worst thing that could happen to him was the time he went to tell the cute seamstress that he liked her only to be pantsed by her over protective little brothers. When the worst things that could happen to him we're so simple and so human…

He kept his dark thoughts away by forgetting them for now and focusing entirely on including every goofy detail he could recall. Before long, he'd forgotten about the terrifying vision this girl had given him, the secrets his own past held, and he almost forgot why he needed the attic key to begin with.

Almost all too quickly the two came upon the small booth that hoarded bushels of potatoes, leaks, beets, carrots, pumpkin, squash, and radishes. It smelled like dirt. 

Standing behind the small booth's even smaller counter was a boy who looked just a little younger than herself, but definitely older than Ezra. She smoothly draped herself over the counter, propping her chin up on her hand and smiling slyly.

“Salute!”

“And to you,” he eagerly answered having not yet spotted his brother. 

He looked her over quickly, hoping she hadn't noticed, she did and this pleased her greatly. It also pleased her to see just how flustered he suddenly became. 

“I'm classmates with your brother. He speaks highly of you,” she practically sang. 

He stared in astonishment at how confidence just rolled off her with more ease and grace than he could ever hope to have. It was how she spoke, she demanded attention and he was happy to give up his. It was in the way she looked at him with these eyes that we're equally as curious and knowing that kept him glancing away. It was the flow of her arm as she reached out and offered a hand. He anxiously tried to wipe his off on his pants to clean them from the sweat and dirt. Already she was speaking, not giving him the chance to shake her hand-

“The name's Bordie. Your brother tells me you're quite the gassy man~”

He forgot about the handshake. He looked up and finally spotted Ezra, grinning with pride and amusement. 

“Damn it, I told you to quit telling people that!”

“Fuck you!”

“No, you! I'm sorry miss. And I hate to be that guy, but what else did he say? You know what, no, it doesn't matter. It's all lies anyway.”

She toyed with a lock of her hair. Carefully she looked him up and down. She bit her bottom lip playfully and shrugged.

“I dunno. You do kinda look like a scarecrow's wet dream. At least, this scarecrow's we-”

“Wow, you're a very strong personality to meet so late in the day. Which class did you say you had with my brother again?”

“Lower.”

“What?”

She sighed heavily and straightened herself out. A disappointed glare directed itself from Matt to Ezra who sat patiently for the two to finish with this sorry attempt at flirting.

“I said, 'Does the scarecrow have a name’?”

He quickly relinquished his hand, forgetting that he hadn't exactly cleaned them. She took it with a strange reagalmess not at all popular among these parts. 

“Yes, sorry. Matt-”

There was pain, a deep and vicious pain. For reasons Matt couldn't explain, he saw only the angry whisps of a flame that was eating away at the cuffs of his pants. Ash and smoke burned his eyes. He kept blinking the irritation away only for it to double its intensity the next time he tried to open his eyes. 

Surrounding him was a choir of chants. Burn the witch. Burn the witch. Burn the witch. 

Out of spite or maybe it was pride, he bit back the scream that ached to be free. He refused to she'd a single tear. He kept his eyes opened and glared at the crowd gathered before him. The last thought he had before fainting from smoke inhalation was a near uncaring whisper of a thought. What does it matter? I'll be back. I always come back. The world then flashed black.

And the bright light of day returned and the pain was gone. 

Bordie fought to keep the removal of her hand as friendly as she could. The hardest part was stopping her tremors. She hurriedly fixed the smile on her face.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she spoke. 

Ezra sat, now no longer amused and very skeptical. It had been less than a second, their handshake, and here both looked exhausted and afraid. More so Matt than Bordie but the point remained. It made him wonder, what exactly did they see in his brother's future? And how on God's green earth does anything that awful happen to a farm boy staring down and eternity tending to crops? 

He opened his mouth the ask but stopped himself as both individuals had chosen to pretend that this entire even just never happened. As quickly as she could, Bordie returned to her flirting. It then dawned on Extra that her strong personality was meant to be a distraction, a fast “forget me” remedy. 

“Firm hands. I like that in a man.”

Matt looked as if he was going to try and say something back and that thought did not please Ezra. He quickly stepped between the two, gave Bordie an apologetic smile that wasn't genuine in the slightest, and pull his brother off to the side ‘ere the two spoke amongst themselves softly. 

Bordie watched, curiously, as their interaction went about as smoothly as jagged gravel. Anger sparked between the both of them at some point or another and at last the older boy have in. Ezra snatched a key from Matt's hands and thundered off. He stopped before he got too far.

“Hey, I'll be back before the sun sets. Where are we meeting?”

“Find the fork in the road at the edge of town. There's a dead Willow tree. I'll be there,” Bordie answered. Ezra nodded once and stalked off. Bordie bit her lip and turned her attention back to the boy still fuming behind the stand. She ran a dainty finger along the booth's ledge. “Now then, entertain me, my scarecrow. What's a life on the farm like?”

The galiant festivities began to dissipate behind him as Ezra weaved his way out of town and stepped out on to a thin, dirt road that lead downward towards the western woods and the isolated farm that served to be the last building for miles. 

A small sign lay on its side. Water washed words whispered a welcome. It's age had rotted away most of the letters. At the sight of this wretched thing, no stranger if these parts could have possibly know what this place was. Having lived here for 18 years, Ezra knew this place as home. The Grey Family Farm. 

His father could be spotted in the outer fields struggling to revive the dying land. He watched the spreading purple vines with a growing worry. Ezra waited until he was certain the man had his back to him before darting towards the back door. It flew open all too easily, not a squeak had been heard. He had Matt and his nightly excursions for that, of course. He snuck from the kitchen to the stairs and bounded up. He stopped in the hallway and stole a glance into the first doorway. 

The room was far from bare but it had been stripped. Ezra smiled. He wondered vaguely if it had been Matt or his father who'd finished packing for him and when to expect the rest of his things. He'd thank them later. Before he could take another step, a soft voice called out.

“You're home? So soon?”

He turned in time to see his mother finish tying her robe around her waist. She leaned against the door frame she was stood in and offered a welcoming smile. The smile vanished and she advanced on him in a flurry of worry.

“You're home. What happened?”

Ezra instinctively took a step away from her searching hands. Years had taught his mother to expect only the worst when she found her youngest unexpectedly. Usually someone was hurt or dying. Usually he was. Kids can be cruel. So can so many other terrible things. This she knew. However hard he tried to avoid the impromptu check over, Ezra succumbed to the fretting of his mother. 

“I ran out of golden thread last night. The catcher failed,_ he explained while she examined his arms closely, looking for the usual teeth or claw marks. 

“How bad?”

“17 stitches.”

“Where?”

Ezra moved slightly and lifted his shirt to expose the nasty gash he'd earned the night prior. She winced at the sight. Her own hand fluttered to her side as if trying to both a phantom pain. 

“We sent the rest of the thread this morning. It should arrive with the rest of your things. Matt even bought you two extra spools. Do you need more Tecolotl feathers? I'll send your father hunting-”

“No, I'm good on feathers. I just needed the thread.” 

She sighed, content with this answer. But only for a moment. A frown overtook her face and she crossed her arms.

“Then why are you home? I know you, I know what this means to you, so what happened? Don't you go and tell me you came back just for some thread!”

Ezra floated on the idea of telling his mother everything. He wanted nothing more than let the ones he loves in, but the world he'd introduce them too wasn't meant for them. So he chose to go with a truth she'd understand.

“I came back for the mirror.”

“The one in the attic?”

“That's the one,” he kissed her forehead before rushing on past her before she could ask anymore questions. 

She stared after him. With a shake of her head, she descended down the stairs to finally fix herself that cup of tea she'd been craving so very badly.

Without having to speak a word about it, both parties had entered into a contract of deniability. After all, he wasn't supposed to be home and she wasn't supposed to be out of bed. Both had every right to ask questions. Such as, What do you need with the mirror, or what are you doing up and about? The answers would be upsetting to hear, and while not heard yet, they would be. All in due time 

While both could easily destroy each other, neither would, for to destroy one would destroy both. Where's the victory there? He'd be sure to keep quiet and she'd be sure to keep hidden and should the need arises, both would work to find some way to distract Farmer Grey from discovering the other. This contract had been one signed in their temporary departure. They needed nothing more. 

Ezra unlocked the door and let it fall open, welcoming him back, welcoming him home. He'd spent ages in this tiny, dusty room. The smell of sawdust rushed to greet him. The sheets covering furniture wafted as he passed. Slowly he approached the mirror and watched his face and the room behind it vanish, just as it always had. He kept walking, even when the glass was just before him. He ducked his head ever so slightly and stepped from the attic room out into a vast empty desert that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. They did.

And as soon as he'd entered completely into this wasteland, the mirror returned to displaying the clustered attic room, now empty of life. 

It would remain so forever on after that last moment. 

It was safe to say that growing up on the outskirts of town stuck with a little.brother who had no control over some monstrous powers, the most attention Matt ever received was usually one of distrust and disgruntlement. He hoped becoming a knight would help fix his social status and maybe he'd finally be able to acquire some close friends and who knows? Maybe even a girlfriend. You could imagine the heartbreak he felt upon learning that he was stuck being a farmer for the rest of his life. 

So despite the odd vision he had when they first met, Matt was more than happy to be bathed in the positive attention this girl readily supplied. Her interests at first had been on muscle tone. So many of the college boys were from wealthy families and never had to work a day in their life and it showed. She was ecstatic to find a man who actually looked like a man and not the little squire think the accountant was probably fucking. 

She wondered how much he could lift and what he'd look like in the fields shirtless. Her father had once told her to find herself a lover who'd bend over backwards to lift the world for her. The boys at school would be appalled that she'd make them lift a finger. But him? 

He was a packaged deal! He had the looks, the work ethic, a stupendous grasp on modern manners, and he came equipped with an aura of pure unadulterated chivalry. She only hoped he was single and she doubted he was because any girl would be lucky as all hell if they managed to win his heart. She toyed with the thought that maybe, just maybe, she could. 

The conversation lasted for hours. She loved every second of it. He was this cove of stories and he had a way with words to keep her hanging on for every last detail. She couldn't help but wonder, where had this man been all her life? And if she left, would he vanish? Could she get him back or was this her one and only chance. 

Just before the conversation could end and a new one beguin, she snuck in, the words heavy in her tongue and her stomach alive with a thousand fluttering butterflies.

“You know, there's this little bar not too far called Strangles. The food and drink's shit, but I would love if I could snag you for a few hours there. Some music, a little dancing, who knows where the night'll take us. What do you think, that sound good to you?”

“Bordie!” The shout came from behind them quite a distance, they almost didn't hear it. She turned to see Ezra hiking his way up the hill drenched and frowned. Time to go already? No! She turned back to Matt, hope in her heart.

He was startled but beaming. He hurriedly rushed to accept this date. It delighted her to see his face pinned with a dorky smile and a fresh blush paint his cheeks. 

“Yes. Yes! Uh-”

“Friday at six.”

“Friday at six!”

She turned to rejoin the other brother, more than pleased with how that turned out. And from the fleeting sounds of his excited whoops and cries, he was too.

She stopped about five feet away from Extra and frowned.

“What happened to you, did you get thrown in a river?”

“It was a lake.”

“You got thrown in a lake?”

“No, I woke up in one. I got what I came for and I said I'd help you make some money, so what's the game plan?”

He had to change the subject before other prying ears could decipher his madness. He wasn't safe out in the open. He knew that much now. 

Bordie nodded, having forgotten about making some extra cash. She frowned now at the thought. There was always tomorrow. It was getting late and he was soaked.

“I find I no longer have the need. I think just to keep things fair, you pay for the ride back this time.”

“Works for me.” 

The carriage came later than they thought it would. They watched as time stretched out their shadows until you could never have guessed what these odd silhouettes originated from. The moon above them was only just starting to hide herself away. A billion stars twinkled and danced around her. It was a gorgeous night. A fitting night really as both saw it differently. Bordie saw the beauty of it. Ezra saw the danger.

Both were released when the Coachman came to a stop before them. They clambered in and watched their home shrink away into the horizon. Only one of the pair would return to it. And he was the one thinking the opposite.

Silence separated them, thick and heavy. She was.lost in her thoughts, delighted by her day. She had so much to reflect over and so much more to look forward to. If she could, she'd grab her own wrist and witness the glory of a fantastic first date over and over. But for some reason or another, she could never see into her own future the same way she saw into others. Hers was constantly and changing. She figured that maybe this time, it would be good to let it be a surprise. 

“Was it my fault?” his voice startled her from her thoughts. She looked up at the other sulking close to the window.

“Hm?”

He sat up, uncomfortable with the question and regretting saying it at all. But he had to know and she knew, surly she did. How could she not. He forced back the fear and asked again.

“When you looked into Matt's future, it wasn't good. I could tell that much. So was it my fault.”

Bordie stared at Ezra for a moment. The hesitation was almost a good enough answer. He fell further back into his seat, defeated. 

“To be perfectly honest, I don't know. It wasn't...it wasn't like yours. His was fast and frantic. It was over just as fast as it started and we only got to see the bitter end. How it started? I don't know.”

He hated that answer more than he hated the silence. So it was his fault. Knowing this was irritating because he had no idea what to do about it. Should he become over protective? Was he supposed to leave Matt alone? What does he do that warrants such an alarming reaction? How does he stop it?

Seeing his growing devastation, Bordie sat up and nudged his leg with her foot to grab his attention without making any actual contact. She smiled.

“Hey. Time is liquid. What you do now can forever alter the future. Nothing is ever truly set in stone. There are far too many variables for that to happen. What I see? There's a 0.01% chance they'll happen. And with every passing second, that number changes. It rises and drops with the blink of an eye. And the truth of the matter is, you won't realize you're in that moment until it's too late and even then the feeling of dejavu will come and you can change the future there too. A death, a fire, you can avoid these. And considering what you can do, Ezra, I have no doubt in my mind that you will. Don't dwell on it any more, you'll lead a life of a hermit.”

She seemed proud of her little speech, however wandering it was. She crossed her legs and returned to the silence to let him reflect on her words. And he did. It was a relief, sort of, knowing he could stop things from happening. But that didn't change the how part of his worries. How was he supposed to stop these events from happening?

This cycle of thoughts plagued his busy mind and he trudged up too many fucking sets of stairs and stumbled I to his room. Tony was already asleep. He must have been exhausted as he left the lantern on. Ezra turned and was startled to find the rest of his luggage neatly piled at the foot of his bed frame. He set to work making a new dream catcher. He hung it above his bed and as he moved to shut off the lanterns, stole a glance at the closet we're the 47 beasts wiggled. He froze. 

Why was one was missing?

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter and the epolouge are the only ones in first person. You'll get why later. 
> 
> Anyways thanks for giving this thing a shot (regardless of the use of first person and my tangents)


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